


Tangle me

by koderenn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Actor Kylo Ren, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Hair Kink, Hairdresser Rey, His hair might be fluffy but the story is not, Honestly now do you expect him to be an angel?, How to mess up a relationship before it even begins, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Modern day fairytale if you squint, Pining, Rey might have even more issues, Slow Burn, a bit of vanity, light obsession, lots of prejudice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23316805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koderenn/pseuds/koderenn
Summary: The texture of his hair is unspun silk. Thick waves of black sea that Rey wants to get lost in. It's not a desire that comes frequently.She combs a strand into place with shaky fingers. The Oscars await."Ready, sir," she says.His dark eyes meet hers in the mirror.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 453
Kudos: 794





	1. Silk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [here4thereylo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/here4thereylo/gifts).



> Inspired by the #reylomicrofic challenge on Twitter!
> 
> And dedicated to my lovely, sweet friend here4thereylo. Girl, I hope you enjoy a very belated gift ♥️
> 
> Betaed by MyJediLife whom I grind to the ground with my insecurities and doesn't bat an eye.

“My name is Rey. I will be your hairdresser for tonight’s event.”

The young woman has his chair turned towards him expectantly, and her hands occupied cleaning her combs and brushes—which is a good start. He hates when they hold on to his seat as if he is about to become their possession.

He tugs on the fabric of his slacks and sits, his weight causing the chair to squeak indignantly under him. 

“I have instructions for a part to the right, added volume and glossifying the ends. Would that be alright with you, sir, or would you prefer something else?"

He glances at her reflection while she’s in the process of neatly arranging the hair products she’ll be using on the dresser in front of the mirror. She cuts right to the chase, this one. No unnecessary small talk about the weather, no kissing up to his celebrity ass about his latest movie and how he deserves to get the Oscar tonight. No blushing and shaky hands making him worry about a lopsided hairdo that his PR manager will point out no doubt.

“Your instructions are fine,” he mumbles. As if he really has a say in this. They always end up creating what their boss has ordered them to do, like obedient elves dressed in black. His eyes fall on her hairstyle. Three buns, one under the other on the back of her head. Very different, very carefully set and twisted. But with a few wild wisps sticking out of their intended place. 

A free spirit, he surmises. He wonders how much makeup she has on. He failed to check as he walked in the room.

“Would you like something to drink? Coffee or tea before we begin?” She looks up, catching his eyes in the mirror. 

Barely any, he notices, not without surprise. Most of the hairdressers he has come across have their faces plastered in layers of cover up and all the colors of the rainbow fanned on their eyelids. Not to mention the fake, heavy lashes.  _ God _ , he feels sorry for their lashes. 

But not this one. No. Sparkling eyes—green or maybe hazel and pink lips are the colors lighting up her face. And a few sprinkled freckles on her rosy cheeks that somehow look very enticing as she continues to stare at him through the mirror. 

She had asked him something.

“An espresso. No sugar.”

She reaches for a phone to place the order, setting one of her wisps behind her ear with slender fingers. No blatant nail polish either. Definitely unique, this one. Perhaps he should start feeling concerned about his hair.

He’d love to see Holdo’s face if she messes it up. After the debacle in Barcelona where he forwent his briefs due to the summer heat, he’s waiting for another opportunity to arise to piss his PR manager off. 

He smirks.

But the young woman—Rey, he reminds himself—is looking away. He’d like to see how easy it would be to break through her professionalism. Crack the serious expression on her face and make her cheeks heat. Maybe he can get an accidental touch by her by the end of their session.

Maybe he can give one too. 

He shifts in his seat, trying to hide his growing interest. Thankfully she’s in the process of setting a cloth over his shoulders.

She begins to mist his hair. Dampening it in order to facilitate her job. He licks his lips. 

She catches it, but looks idly away.

When she begins to run her comb through his hair, he can’t help but shut his eyes. God, it feels  _ divine _ . He has had the most pounding headache since he woke up.  _ Again _ . It has become a regular occurrence these days due to his inhumane schedule and fucked up traveling hours. If he hadn’t had a blowjob last night, he doesn’t believe he would have been able to sleep.

Rey huffs, puffing a strand of hair away from her face. Her comb has come across a knot and she’s tugging on it as carefully as she can to untangle it. He hadn’t even noticed she had come across such trouble. Her movements are delicate and careful. His headache really appreciates her effort.

“You’re not hurting me,” he decides to inform her, almost feeling bad for the difficult spot his hair has put her in. It’s the least he can do. She’s been silent and discreet, letting him sulk in his thoughts without having to use any of his social skills. He has to remember to let her boss know how satisfied he has been by her services. Screw the hair.

“It’s only a little tangle. I’ll wet it again,” she says politely with a little smile, concentrating on her task. Was her voice this pleasant before? Or is it the lovely smile that made the difference? There is something so warm and natural in the way she moves, unpretentious and simple, that captivates his interest without willing to let go. 

She’s like a breath of fresh air. 

He has forgotten how suffocating his world can be. How vain and narcissistic in all its sophisticated elegance. He had started just as simply once. Full of dreams and aspirations and  _ wonder. _ Where did all the enthusiasm go? The excitement. The  _ adventure.  _ He never thought he would feel so fed up and exhausted by it all.

“Are you alright, sir? Do you need to get up and stretch?” She asks, sounding genuinely concerned for him. She’s very perceptive too, he decides. It makes him feel uncomfortable, and nobody makes him feel uncomfortable these days. 

“No, thank you. Carry on.”

She digs her fingers in his hair, and he shuts his eyes at the blissful sensation.

Her light, clean scent drifts to his nose. 

  
  


…..

  
  


The texture of his hair is unspun silk. Thick waves of black sea that Rey wants to get lost in. It's not a desire that comes frequently.

She had felt so nervous when she found out Kylo Ren had been appointed to her. She almost asked for Poe to replace her. But at the end of the day, she figured he is just a man, like so many others whose hair she has run her comb through. There is no reason why his brooding silence and intimidating, dark gaze should make her feel like she’s standing practically naked in front of him.

Perhaps it's his well known difficult personality that makes her feel so cautious. Guarded. Maybe it's the rumors of his ugly, devastating break up with one of Hollywood’s most beloved leading actresses that’s affecting her judgement. Or maybe it’s just the hair. 

She  _ loves  _ working on his hair. A little too much.

Kylo Ren sighs. As if he's caught the end of her tangled thoughts. She picks out another strand.

It’s a wild mane he has, with a will of its own. But so soft at the same time. The man sits obediently under her fingertips. Pliant. She can’t help but wonder if there’s a hidden part of him that could be as supple as his tresses. 

Hair reflects the personality, after all. 

He has brought out his phone because of a notification, scrolling down the screen with a frown. She hasn’t caught his glance once since she started working the wax on the tips of his strands. But it must not feel too unpleasant, judging by the way his tired eyes had eventually fallen shut and his long features had relaxed. She can’t be too sure, though. He is very distant. Unaccessible.

Or perhaps just misunderstood. A complete opposite to the anxious, self absorbed, but overly pleasant celebrities she has come to work with since her career took off at First Order Salon under one of the greatest hairdressers of the Eastern Coast, Armitage Hux.

There’s a knock on the door, and room service is allowed in by his assistant. There’s a quick whispered exchange between her and the actor, currently frowning his displeasure. Rey decides to stand to the side and out of his way. 

“You did not order anything for yourself,” he points out as his assistant departs.

He takes a sip of his espresso. The small mug practically disappears in his hand. That is how large it is. How large  _ he  _ is. Rey is all but surprised he was able to fold himself in the chair of his hotel suite.

“I did not need anything.”

“You were too embarrassed. The bill would be under my name,” he says, studying her in the mirror. Rey chooses not to respond immediately. She simply concentrates on curling in a couple of rebellious strands on the left side of his head. There's no reason to explain why she loathes  _ owing _ to anyone. 

“I don’t accept drinks from strangers,” she tries to humor him. “It’s a quirk.”

“Ah,” he drawls. “Not an American quirk, though.”

She almost pokes his scalp with the pointy end of her comb. It’s a simple statement, but for some reason it sounds like an admonishment. An accusation. 

He’s still looking at her through the mirror. Rey bristles. 

Brown. His eyes are  _ brown _ . With flecks of amber at the rim of his irises. She would have never discovered that detail if the sun wasn’t shining on his features, removing the shadows of his frown. There is something innocent that remains under the light. Boyish. It’s very distracting. Deceitfully so.

“I’m from London, England. My accent gives me away too soon,” she smiles politely, bringing her attention back to his hair. “But I’ve been in the United States for years, with the help of my grandfather. In the beginning, at least. I’m on my own now,” she straightens her back. It’s the one accomplishment in her life she is proud of, even if it cost her an education at MIT. Detangling herself from her grandfather's influence has been the wisest choice she's ever made. 

“Alone?”

His unsolicited question makes her pause. She can see him studying her out of the corner of his eye.  _ Yes _ , she wants to answer back. Very alone. Only it would be the most heedless thing to do, confiding to a complete stranger, much less to the hottest upcoming actor of his generation. His motives aren’t exactly clear and pure. And if she were to play along, it would probably lead to a secret fantasy come true with a bit of a bruised heart. A haunting memory if she fell in too deep. She would hate to be disposed of at the end of a night. 

It’s happened to her once too many times.

“With all due respect, sir, my personal life is not something I would like to discuss.”

This could very well be the reason she will end up being fired by tomorrow--or by the end of the day. Whichever. But Kylo Ren chuckles, a deep, luscious sound that reverberates in his chest. A wide, toothy,  _ adorable _ smile breaks over his face, dimpling his cheeks. She is momentarily starstruck by it, and the amused expression that sparkles in his crinkled eyes. He folds one leg on top of the other, shifting in his chair to make himself more comfortable.

He turns his head to face her. 

Her breath hitches under the intensity of his gaze. The mirror has done nothing but flatten its affect and reign in its power. She is completely unprepared to face him.

“I haven’t heard anyone speak back to me in years,” he chastises her, thoroughly amused. He regards her for a long moment. Rey can feel her cheeks begin to burn.

“I didn’t mean to be rude. I simply—”

“No need to apologize,” he lifts his hand to quiet her. “I overstepped. It was my bad. I should be the one apologizing to you.”

She nods and looks down at one of the glossy strands that’s still twisted around her finger. She can feel his heavy gaze on her, but she’s afraid to look back. 

“No need. It’s ok...” she says eventually with a shrug that she hopes seems nonchalant, before picking up her work. 

He turns away. An awkward silence falls between them after that. Only an occasional snip of metal scissors and a spray here and there disrupt the stillness of the room. Its as if they are both holding their breaths. She combs a last strand in place with shaky fingers before she sets it with hairspray. The bottle clanks on the dresser with finality. The Oscars await.

“Ready, sir.”

His dark gaze meets hers in the mirror. Only she can’t look away this time. He removes the cloth from his shoulders and rises slowly. She watches him every inch of the way. She hadn’t noticed how tall and broad he was—how a _ ttractive _ —until he towers over her. 

Christ, he’s so  _ beautiful. _ So dangerously beautiful.

“Thank you…  _ Rey _ ,” he tastes her name. Every consonant and every vowel of it—as if it’s a newly discovered word that excites him. Her heart begins to race. “I would like to have a business card from you for future collaboration. I’ll have my manager get in contact with you, if you’re interested.”

Rey tries to decipher the intentions behind his proposal, but his expression is neutral. All signs of his previous mirth have evaporated, leaving behind the cold, detached man everyone speaks about. Except for the eyes. Something curious and beguiling still simmers deep inside. 

She reaches for her worn out purse, fumbling through the interior pockets in search of a business card. It’s not as if she uses them often. She fishes one out eventually, thankful it’s in decent shape, and hands it to him. 

His long fingers barely brush against her own as he takes it and studies it. A numb sensation spreads from the spot he touched and travels up her hand, raising fine hairs in its wake. 

“Thank you for your services, Ms. Niima. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

He lifts his eyes to look at her, and all she can do is stare back, at a complete loss of words. She is so frustrated with herself for allowing this man to work his charm on her. She should have seen it coming. It’s part of his job, after all. She’s fairly certain his ego has been fed well enough for the next couple of hours or so.

But before she’s able to respond, he raises his hand to finger a wisp of hair away from her face, caressing the highbone of her cheek lightly with his knuckle. The touch is so featherlight, so soft, she would have missed it entirely if her senses weren't so heightened. His eyes roam her face curiously. Fascinated. As if she’s some rare species on the verge of extinction.

Rey fears she will be if he continues to look at her this way.

His face darkens and his hand drops. The actor takes a step back. A little too hastily. Like he’s come across something potentially harmful. 

Like he’s left himself  _ exposed _ .

He turns around, grabbing his suit jacket. The thick, elegant fabric ruffles as he tugs it on. He doesn’t spare her another glance. He simply walks to the door, heels clicking decisively against the polished wooden floor. Rey feels like he is sucking away all the air from the room. 

But he pauses at the entrance, hesitating before he addresses her over his shoulder.

“Someone like you shouldn’t be alone.” His voice feels like velvet on this strange, heartstruck afternoon. “I’ll see you around.  _ Rey. _ ”

The door clicks softly behind him, before the meaning of his words blankets her mind. His muffled steps disappear on the carpeting of the hotel’s corridor.

Rey clutches her comb to her thudding chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am teetering between leaving this as a one-shot or turning it into a multi chapter adventure. Your feedback would be greatly appreciated and gobbled down! 
> 
> Lemme know if you want more!


	2. Unexpected client

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you for the amazing feedback on this crazy little story and its hairkink! I have decided to turn it into a small fic but the real number of chapters is yet to be discovered. 
> 
> I feel obliged to inform you that I know nothing about hair, but I sure do admire a good healthy mane when I see one.
> 
> And so does Rey. 
> 
> If only things could be so simple.
> 
> Betaed by MyJediLife

“Is that who I think it is?”

Rose's mouth hangs slightly agape when Rey looks up. 

The only other sign of surprise in her friend’s very composed personality is her paintbrush hovering over a woman's head that’s in the process of being highlighted.

Rey bites her lip, trying to avoid glancing at the reflection of the tall man standing at the entrance of the salon. Instead, she busies herself tidying up her station and cleaning her brushes, wiping down residual hair from the chair or flecks of dust from corners of her booth that she didn't even know existed.  _ Anything _ to refrain herself from acknowledging the reason behind her accelerating pulse. 

"Oh my God! That's Kylo Ren!" 

Not that it makes much of a difference.

Because the Mayor's daughter, who is currently changing highlights for the second time this month, verifies what Rey already knows.

"When did he return to New York?" The girl hisses at Rose. "Wasn't he supposed to be seeing Bazine Netal right after his breakup with Jessica Pava? I thought he was in LA."

Rose meets Rey's gaze over the aluminum foils curiously. Rey shrugs her indifference. Part of her already regrets discussing with her friend a few of the details of last month’s run in with the actor. It was an interesting experience, but nothing memorable. No big deal. A fairly insignificant and common occurrence, actually, judging from the number of celebrities and high society clientele that the First Order Salon deals with on a daily basis. 

She is used to it by now. All of them are.

Rey wipes her sweaty palms on her black uniform and decides to sanitize the counter before her next appointment is up.  _ Again. _

"He's so much hotter in person," the young woman chimes in, as if her opinion matters. "Despite the fact that he is a cheating asshole with no sense of gratitude towards the woman that made him who he is. He would still be a nobody if it weren't for Jessica Pava." She scoffs, continuing to eye him between her aluminum strands. "His ass is still so cute, though."

Rose sniggers silently while Rey tries not to roll her eyes. She was never one to follow the latest Hollywood gossip--digging into personal lives is not something she particularly enjoys. But it’s practically unavoidable in her line of profession. She hates to admit how often she has eavesdropped on conversations that concerned him this past month. 

And regretted it.

She glances at the man currently in deep discussion with her boss in the sunlit reception area of the salon. She has done her best to ignore him. But he is such a  _ magnetizing _ presence. All eyes are drawn to him, as if he's some mystical true north. 

She can't resist.

The exchange between him and Mr. Hux will be the highlight of the day. Her ginger headed boss has a prickly, haughty personality that doesn't take objections very well. But Kylo Ren does not seem to be phased by him. 

He stands seemingly at ease, his posture slightly hunched and his hands in the pockets of his slacks, steadily observing her boss, who is in the middle of an existential crisis.

He's messing up Hux's appointments. Rey would wager her green card over it.

The scene is very enthralling—up until the moment the actor meets her gaze and lifts a long finger to point at her.

She can feel her name resonate down to her bones when it falls from his lips, making the posh tapestry of the walls close in on her and the light of the crystal chandelier throb on her retinas.

"I want Ms. Rey Niima," he declares simply, with his deep voice reverberating over the clatter of the salon. Her breath stills in her chest. 

Rey has never heard this sentence uttered before in her life.

Her boss follows his finger with a scrunched nose. "Of course, Mr. Ren," he comments dryly. "Right this way."

Kylo Ren falls in step behind Hux, their heels clicking ominously on the immaculate, onyx floor as they make their way towards her station. She realizes there is no place to hide.

“A haircut for Mr. Ren. A simple trimming of the ends will suffice.”

Rey understands—it’s Hux’s way of telling her not to venture into extremes and screw up the hair of a client who clearly isn’t meant for her scissors.

“Yes, sir.” She wishes she could tell him to shove those scissors where the sun doesn’t shine, but her job is important and the paycheck very much needed. She’s learned a long time ago to pick her battles and mince her words. 

And this is certainly a battle she won’t come out of unscathed.

“Hello,” Kylo Ren says, dragging her gaze to the bob of his Adam’s apple. “It’s nice to see you again.” The top button of his shirt is unfastened, clearly in protest to the suffocating collar, revealing the dip of skin between his collarbones.

Rey suddenly doesn’t know what to do with her fingers.

“You’ve met before?” Hux asks, seeming a little incredulous.

“At the Oscars. She was assigned to do my hair. I believe by  _ you.” _ Kylo Ren doesn’t take his eyes off her, despite the color that creeps onto her boss’s cheeks. It’s a few shades darker than his hair and very intriguing to watch. But the actor doesn’t seem interested.

“Ah, but of course!” Hux strains to salvage what he can, although his annoyance at being bested is as blatant as the strand of hair currently falling out of place on his forehead. “Ms. Niima is very capable, indeed. I’m happy to see her work was satisfactory. Very well, then. Carry on!”

He swirls on his designer heels, eager to retreat to the reception area to greet the next client.

Rey dares to peek at the man towering over her. 

He is already looking down at her with a light smirk, in some strange, self-indulgent way that reminds her of a little boy that got his way. His very spoiled way.

_ Celebrities,  _ she tells herself once more. Sometimes she wonders why she got into this line of work to begin with.

“Follow me,” she says, turning her back to him to lead the way to the section of the salon where his hair is to be washed. Her cheeks are starting to burn, and she doesn’t want him to witness her discomfort. It takes him a moment to catch up with her, but he falls easily in step next to her. Which is to be expected. This man’s stride can devour a crocodile. 

She completely avoids glancing at Poe arching his brow--impressed, or the discreet thumbs up Rose is giving her from her station. This day is too surreal for her own good. 

“Have a seat,” she says and introduces him to the girl drying her hands by the sink. “Page will be the one washing your hair today, and I will meet you back at my station in a few minutes to continue with the haircut.”

Kylo Ren frowns. 

He doesn’t seem very happy to be left in the hands of a young apprentice, judging from the small twitch of muscle under his left eye.

He cocks his head to the side. “I believe you are responsible for my hair today. That’s what the Head of the salon said.”

“I handle the cutting and styling of hair. There is personnel that does the washing. I am certain Paige can—”

“You will be my exclusive stylist for the day. That was the agreement.”

“Yes, but—”

“Do you refuse to do your job?”

“I…”  _ What?  _ Rey blinks at him in utter confusion. But he only stares back with a blank expression on his face. “No, I never said that.”

She sets a strand of hair behind her ear, swallowing around a dry throat. The last thing she needs is for him to complain about her services to Hux after he specifically asked for her to be assigned to him. And she has fought too damn hard to remain in this salon. Her swollen feet at the end of each day bear witness to the harsh hours she puts in, holding on to her position with nails and teeth. There’s a whole line of hairdressers lining up to replace any one of them at any given moment. 

She plasters a professional smile on her face.

“Of course not, sir. I am more than happy to provide any services you require.”

The words stumble out of her mouth before Rey can filter them, and she freezes when their meaning dawns in his dark eyes.

“Are you, now?” he drawls. 

She swears he has taken a step closer, but her vision is starting to darken around the edges and her ears begin to buzz. She believes she has stopped breathing altogether. 

“Relax…” he smiles—that boyish, deceiving smile that dimples his cheeks and softens the sharp edges of his features. It’s as if sunlight has broken through a charcoal sky. It leaves her a bit blinded. “I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I don’t trust people easily, and I simply would like you to be the one handling my hair today. But if you don’t want to, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s alright,” she rushes to say, nearly facepalming herself for the ease with which she has fallen for the slight pout he has graced her with.

_ He is an actor,  _ Rey reminds herself. 

And a damn good one, too. Swindling emotions out of innocent, impressionable audiences is his  _ job.  _ She's provided him the perfect opportunity to prove a tiny fraction of his talent. 

God, she’s such an idiot.

This time he  _ does _ take a step closer, leaning in to catch her eyes. His gaze is soft, a little too soft for her exposed heart. She hates how easily she is willing to open up to men who give her an ounce of attention. Let alone  _ affection.  _

“Are you sure?” The timbre of his voice is the most soothing sensation she’s felt in weeks.

_ And the way his eyes search her face… _

“I don’t want to pressure you.”

_ As if they almost care… _

“Please take a seat, sir, so I can wash your hair.” She announces coldy, shutting him out. Practically shoving him away from her. He blinks at her as if he’s been slapped, even though she hasn’t lain a single finger on him.

He straightens his back, returning to his original intimidating height. Rey proceeds to run the water, fiddling with the levers to adjust the temperature.

Her heart feels like it will break through her ribs.

She can sense him hovering for a moment at the periphery of her vision, before he walks around to sit as instructed. 

……..

She is difficult. 

He has to hand it to her. He can’t remember how long it’s been since his advances have been turned down so magnanimously by a woman before. If his  _ innocent _ attention towards her could be considered as advances, of course.

He leans his head back, shutting his eyes against the bright light on the ceiling and trying to relax the muscles of his face. Warm water begins to run through his hair, and a strange anticipation trickles to the base of his spine. 

He has been wanting to feel this woman’s fingers in his hair for  _ weeks _ . 

It’s debasing how much he's craved for them, losing precious sleep like some kind of hormonal teenager whenever he brought back memories of her soft tugs. Of wide, hazel eyes staring up at him as he  _ accidentally _ caressed the highbone of her cheek. She had been so bewildered that day. Almost frightened. 

And how could she not. He had gone too far. 

A simple touch can be ripped apart these days.

Her fingers begin to lather his hair with shampoo and he practically melts into his seat, wondering what kind of dark sorcery she wields. He doesn’t know how he will stand back on his two feet when she’s finished and done with him.

His phone begins to buzz in his pocket.

He nearly growls in frustration. Is it so hard for a man to have a break? A moment to breathe? He wishes he could have tossed it over a bridge on his way to Manhattan, like he had done in Paris. But his manager would just get him another. There is no escape. 

“Would you like to answer that?” she asks.

But she is in the middle of rinsing the suds and he wants to remain under her spell forever. 

“No. Not really.”

“It might be important.” 

Is that a smile in her voice? He has his eyes shut but his perception remains keen. Especially when it comes to her.

“Whoever it is will find me eventually. They always do.”

“You make it sound like you don’t want to be found.”

Her fingers have paused, but the water still runs. Her curiosity seems so naive coming from a world so different than his. If she only knew the extent he has gone through to keep his personal life away from the spotlight, and yet find it floundered on magazine covers despite his best efforts to remain unseen. 

He tends to forget that not everyone in the business appreciates privacy. He tends to forget how little they seek it. 

And how crippling the hunger for fame can become.

The water shuts off before he gives an answer. She wrings his hair and wraps a towel over it, making sure the ends are snugly tucked in. He removes it the moment he gets on his feet, shaking his head.

He has enough restrictions as it is.

“Your hair is dripping. You’re going to get water all over your shirt!” She chastises him and snatches another towel to throw over his shoulders.

She rises on her tiptoes to reach him, fussing over the droplets running down his face. She pats his temples lightly. Then the bridge of his nose while he remains perfectly still for her to wipe him down to her satisfaction. 

Her movements are careful, even as she strains to towel dry his hair among the chattering clients and bustling personnel, tussling his hair and wreaking havoc on his heart. She is quite a delight to watch, frowning over her work with little puffs of breath fanning on his face. It makes him want to lean in. Feel wisps of her hair tickle his lips.

But he studies her tentatively instead, and decides on another approach. 

"I want to be found," he murmurs, soft enough for her ears only.

She stops to stare at him from under the towel, and he holds his breath. Never has such close scrutiny felt like a verdict about to be announced before. 

She removes the towel and takes a step back.

“I believe you are ready for that haircut, sir.”

Her rejection feels like a punch to the gut, and it catches him unprepared. So much for wearing his heart out on his sleeve for her, in a manner of speaking. She seems to be very leery of him. 

Or perhaps just hard to get.

Either way, it reminds him that his usual approach isn’t working, and he is equally thrilled and  _ annoyed _ about it. 

“Yes,” he smirks. “Yes, I am.”

She has her back turned to him quicker than he can finish his sentence—which starts to piss him off. He wants to say that others would have been slipping their numbers in the pocket of his slacks by now. His  _ front  _ pocket. But this one is clearly trying to make a statement.

He follows her—because what the fuck else can he do at this point—and sits obediently on the chair she points out.

She brings out her scissors and her comb, and that bewitching calmness that makes him want to grab her wrist and pull her into his lap. Make her feel sorry for the torture she’s making him go through. But all he can do is stare at her through the mirror while she completely ignores him.

His phone vibrates in his pocket again.

God must really hate him today.

“Are you going to—”

“Yes. It looks like some people are very insistent on  _ finding _ me,” he drawls, before setting the bluetooth in his ear. He notices her little frown out of the corner of his eye, not without satisfaction. Maybe she’s not as indifferent as he feared she was. 

He can work with that.

She continues her work while he hums condescendingly into his phone at the cruel filming schedule of his next movie, which Holdo is happy to inform him about. He seriously believed he had more time on his hands, but all he has now is barely a month. Three weeks—to be exact. What kind of a plausible excuse can he  _ possibly _ have to come to the salon again within three weeks?

Could he sound more desperate to his own ears?

“I don’t care about the weather conditions in Scotland, Amilyn. I’ll buy whatever I need,” he grumbles at some point. “No, I’m in New York. I told you I wasn’t going to make it to Palm Beach. I just got here.” He shuts his eyes and wishes he could rub them through the cloth that's draped over his body, but a metallic snip next to his ear reminds him that he needs to remain perfectly still while Holdo is ranting on the other side of the line as he’s in the middle of getting a goddamn  _ haircut _ .

Fuck his life.

He feels a light pressure on his shoulders, and he looks up, startled to see Rey’s reflection in the mirror observing him with an understanding and concern that nearly causes him to stutter on the phone. Her hands are weighing on his shoulders, but they are somehow lifting the burden of his day as if she has become a pillar of sorts.

His very own Atlas.

“Do you want me to stop?” she mouths at him. He shakes his head lightly, entranced.

“I’m about to enter a tunnel, Amilyn,” he says, not taking his eyes off her. “The line is going to get cut off any second, so I’ll have to get back to you. Yeah, sure, absolutely…Nope, I can't hear you. Goodbye now!"

Shutting his phone off has never felt so satisfying before.

“Lines don’t get cut off in New York anymore,” she says with a small smile. A timid, amused smile that makes his heart skip a fucking beat.

“I believe my manager  _ knows _ .” He smirks back, daringly. 

Her smile turns radiant, and her eyes remain locked with his in the mirror. They are bright and exquisite, and he tries to contain the constellation of stars lighting up his own. 

He can sit here staring at her forever. It's absurd.

She shakes her head and returns to her work with a rosy color spreading on her cheeks. Kylo bites his lip. 

_ Finally. _ A crack in her walls. One that calls for him to slip his fingers inside and tear them down. 

“Do you like working here?” he asks, nearly wincing with his lack of subtlety.

“It’s alright.”

“It’s a well-known salon, the hours must be exhausting.”

“I don’t mind.” 

He chews the inside of his cheek, pondering his next words. She’s really giving him a run for his money. He doesn’t recall having such trouble conversing with a woman before.

“Would you consider a slight change in your career?”

“Such as?”

“Coming to work for me as my personal hairdresser for my upcoming movie? It would open immense opportunities. No strings attached.”

She meets his gaze in the mirror.

“I don’t think it’s—”

“Of course, it’s only a proposition. There’s no need for you to give me an answer immediately. But I would like for you to consider it.”

He holds on to her gaze with all that he has. She can’t look away. He  _ feels it.  _

_ Come on little bird… _

This is the second time he’s offering her a job, and her hesitation is killing him. He can’t understand why it’s so damn  _ difficult  _ to say such a simple word as  _ yes. _ Yes, I would like to come work for you. Yes, I would like to run my fingers through your hair every day. Yes, I would like your bright star to shed a little of its light on my vanity.

_ Yes, I would like you to fuck me. _

What does he need to do? What does he have to say to convince her? What can he  _ possibly _ offer this woman that she would ever want?

Because she is not. Like.  _ That _ .

And he  _ knows. _

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to say no,” she says softly. Barely above a whisper. And  _ damn  _ does her rejection  _ sting _ this time around. He gathers all his acting skills and years of painful life experiences to school his features into an expression of refined indifference. He prays she doesn’t note the bitter clench of his jaw.

“No problem.” His pride has taken a mighty blow, but she doesn’t need to know the details. “The offer still stands if you change your mind,” he adds a bit coldly.

He pulls out his phone to occupy himself and doesn't spare her another glance. He has given her enough attention, and it’s time she realizes who she’s dealing with. He dials Scorsese for a little chat.

When she pulls the cloth from his shoulders and brushes away the residual hair from his nape, her fingers are trembling lightly. But he pretends he doesn’t notice. He gets off his seat, leaving a few bills on her booth when she’s not looking, and brushes past her with a nonchalant  _ have a nice day _ , seemingly in deep conversation on his phone.

He ends the call the moment he’s out of earshot.

His heart is thudding inside his chest when he crosses the luxurious entrance of the salon. He should go. He should walk out that door and never give that woman another thought. In fact, his hand is already splayed on the spotless glass surface of the door, about to push it open and step out in the bustling New York sidewalk and the freedom it holds. Fill his head with the honking of horns and running advertisements, blinking screens and rushing crowds.

Only he doesn’t. He  _ can't _ . 

He presses his lips in a thin line and takes a step back. 

_ He can't believe he's doing this. _

“Mr. Hux,” he says. 

_ Surely, he will regret it. _

The ginger  head looks up from the reception desk, curiously. Kylo sets his hand in his pocket and approaches the man smoothly. Self-assured. One step in front of the other as if he owns the whole damn world. Impressions are half the battle, after all.

“I have a business offer for you. One that you can’t refuse," he says, making sure he has the man’s attention before he continues. "I only ask for one thing in return...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who said he would let go so easily? Such a persistent man....tsk..tsk...
> 
> My Twitter account is @koderenn if you want to share thoughts or just chat. Believe me I am more shy then you!


	3. Scotland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to ReyloBrit for helping me get the feel of a land far away from mine.
> 
> Betaed always by my tireless friend MyJediLife.
> 
> So does Rey get super mad with his spoiled manipulative ass and shut him off? Let's find out!

Thunder rumbles over misty hilltops on the horizon.

Rey frowns as she looks at the grey, overcast sky, shielding her eyes against the light rain settling on her lashes. She wouldn’t be surprised if the drizzle accompanied her for the rest of the day. The autumn air is already saturated by wet earth and the tangy scent of damp grass, dragging memories out of corners of her mind that have long been buried. She feels five again.

Old, forgotten scents have the tendency to do that.

Rey's trip to Scotland as a little girl is one of her first, most impressionable images, back when her parents were alive and her world didn't extend beyond a few blocks from their home—a small one bedroom apartment in the dingy part of London. Time was carefree then. Simple and happy. But life is unpredictable—as she came to know too early in her years—and a brief moment of distraction on the road proved to be fatal for her family. 

Rey still has trouble entering cars for the simplest of rides.

Another roll of thunder echoes down heathland and thistles. Rey opens her red umbrella. 

No point losing herself in the past, she tries to tell herself. She needs to concentrate on her job and the opportunities it presents. But the circumstances under which it came to be are not what she had in mind. 

Before her lies a huge muddy clearing. Scenery of a small early renaissance town occupies a good part of it, bustling with activity. People come and go dressed in costumes of that era, cameras roll, and an occasional raised voice pierces the serenity of the countryside.

In the background, a very real and very old-looking castle sits on top of a hill, casting its decaying shadow on this century’s ephemeral enthusiasm over a time long gone. 

“This way everyone,” Jannah, the production assistant, says, pointing towards a row of trailers at the side of the clearing where her team is meant to be stationed. The clanging of a sword fight in the middle of the town is the center of attention, letting her know that the filming is well underway. 

Poe is quick to fall in step behind their guide, but Rose waits, watching her warily.

“You’re not here just because of  _ him _ , Rey,” she comforts her. “You would’ve wanted to be part of this either way. We’re lucky to be here. And besides, you might not end up working for him after all.” 

Rey doubts  _ that. _

Hux’s ultimatum of either joining the rest of his salon’s team being sent to Universal Studios’ latest production about the Black Death in the early 14th century, or  _ resigning,  _ gave her few options. Under normal circumstances she would jump at the opportunity to improve her skills on period hairstyling for a production of this magnitude--but these aren't normal circumstances.

She knows  _ exactly _ who is behind the ultimatum, and she doesn’t appreciate it one bit. 

Rey perches the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder and nods in agreement to her friend. She has whined about the unsettling situation enough times while they were in New York--nagging about it in Scotland won’t make any difference. Not to mention that she shouldn’t be burdening her friend with worries over a celebrity’s passing interest.

“Yeah, you’re right. He’s probably already forgotten about me,” she grumbles. 

Rose laughs. “He has probably already turned his attention to his make up artist. I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. Come on, now. This place is incredible!”

The two women quicken their steps to catch up with their guide.

Walking through town feels like time traveling. Even the costumes are so realιstic that she nearly jumps out of her skin when a corpse detaches itself from a chair, asking their guide for a smoke.

Rose, next to her, outright laughs.

But Rey can't join.

There’s a strange anticipation fluttering in her stomach every time a cast member crosses paths with them. She doesn’t realize how much she’s been wanting to finally see _him_ and get this over with—to come to terms with the fact that she’s insignificant, that she means nothing, and his attention was as fleeting as a comet burning up in the Earth’s atmosphere.

Two men dressed in stiff renaissance costumes approach on their horses, but she’s so engrossed in her thoughts she barely gives them a second glance. They stride lazily toward her—heavy capes rippling, horses’ hooves clopping—and talking casually with each other. Rose tugs on her sleeve to pull her out of their way. She moves to the side to not get splattered in mud, and it’s not until a polished black boot is in front of her that something urges her to look up. 

A familiar dark gaze meets hers.

Her heart thuds to a stop. 

"M’lady…” The dark haired man touches his hat in a gentleman’s salute, smirking down at her.

His cape and costume are as opaque as night. Only the glint of a sword strapped to his side, and the lace of a white shirt peeking through his stiff collar and sleeves break through the darkness. A neatly trimmed goatee is covering the lower part of his face, and his hair—his beautiful,  _ thick _ hair—is falling in messy waves to his shoulders. 

_ He’s breathtaking. _

As if he's a Dark Prince, ripped from the pages of a fairytale—or some other mythical, forgotten world hidden within the wrinkles of time.

The man holds her gaze from his high horse. The animal snorts and shakes its head, circling restless in its spot. She can't help but notice it's a stallion. 

"Good morning," he says, tugging the reins expertly and soothing the animal with a pat on its neck. "Fancy seeing you here."

Rey brings her hand up to shield her eyes from the glare that breaks through the clouds.

"I don't think I was left with much of a choice," she says coldly, despite the fact that she's as awestruck as ever. 

He bites the inside of his cheek in his attempt to hide a smile and looks at her impishly. At least he feels a little shame at being caught red handed. The horse neighs and kicks its hooves in the mud.

"Will you hold it against me?" he asks.

"It wasn't your call."

"Oh, come on…" He chuckles deeply. "You can't be that mad at me."

"I don't think it really matters to you if I am."

His light mood doesn’t slip from his features, and his eyes continue to bore down on her. He circles her with his restless stallion. If he’s trying to impress her with his dramatics—Rey has to admit it's working. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest as fitfully as his horse. It's a struggle trying to hide how nervous he makes her feel.

“Perhaps you’re jumping to conclusions about my character a little too soon, Ms. Niima. Or do gossip magazines provide their readers with a detailed description of my personality along with my love life?"

"Funny you should say that. It sounds like  _ you  _ are the one jumping to conclusions about  _ me _ now," she says pointedly.

His jaw clenches. Probably the only sign of annoyance that he allows to show. He continues to smile at her in a way that makes her feel like he’s categorizing her. Filing and storing information away with the intent to ruffle through later. The horse snaps its tail against its hide and snorts impatiently.

"Kylo!" the other man calls from a few paces away. "We gotta go."

"I'll be right there," he tugs on the reins--the horse turns to the right with a shake of its mane. 

"My conclusions are usually right," he says a bit haughtily, but not in a rude way. In fact, it seems like he is enjoying her answers after mauling them over in his mind for a few heartbeats. "Let’s see if yours are wrong." 

He needles the sides of his horse and turns his back to her before she can respond, and then he trots away, chuckling at a comment his comrade has made. 

"So much for not remembering you," Rose mumbles next to her.

Rey feels like she will be nauseous. 

Poe is watching her amused, but Jannah raises her eyebrows.

"We must be quite a sight without costumes on," Rey tries to crack a joke. "Does Mr. Ren do that often? Tease random, innocent bystanders?"

Reputations must be hard to uphold.

"No." Their guide shakes her head lightly, continuing to study her in curiosity. "Not random. No."

Rey clenches her hands into fists, barely restraining herself from a bitter laugh.

"Well," Rose butts in. "How about we finish our tour and get down to business? I don't know about you, but I'm dying to get my hands on some of those wacky hairdos."

Jannah agrees, a little relieved. "Sure thing. Follow me!"

  
  
  


Rey's mind is scattered in a million directions for a good portion of the morning. She nearly snips off the ponytail of a minor actress, and messes up the hairdo of a stuntman before she decides that she has to get her act together—or she’ll end up getting kicked out.

Time flies, and she’s so preoccupied that she forgets to eat lunch.

When she eventually steps out of the trailer, it’s nightfall, and they’re all ushered back to their minivan and taken to a nearby town where their accommodations are. 

She doesn't allow herself to think that she hasn't seen him for the remainder of the day. Or that he hasn't called on her like she feared he would.

Poe, Rose and Rey grab a bite at a local pub, complaining about their aching feet with huge smiles on their faces. With a somber voice, Poe swears he'll remain humble and still hang out with them occasionally even after he becomes the most wanted hairstylist in the movie business. His statement earns a few chips being tossed at him and a round of giggles, but other than that, their evening is quiet.

Two pints of beer and good spirits aside, they’re exhausted. They should sleep like rocks tonight.

Rey, however, ends up tossing and turning in her bed, grunting into her pillow or staring miserably at the ceiling—too wired to fall asleep. She wishes she could blame the foreign bed. But a pair of consuming eyes have been haunting her all day. 

Thankfully she has no roommate, so pacing in the middle of the night doesn’t annoy anyone else apart from herself. She pulls the heavy drapes open and looks out the window at the pretty view of the town’s park. Her room is stylish and clean, and the moment she entered, she realized that it is not exactly cheap.

She can’t help but wonder if all the crew members are this lucky. Or if she is an  _ exception. _

That thought piles along with the rest, and Rey barely catches a wink for the rest of the night.

The next morning she feels as dreary as the fake corpses on the wooden wagon at the side of her trailer.  S he decides that a steaming cup of black coffee instead of her usual tea with creme might resurrect her. The food trailer is not far anyway.

She’s in the process of heating up a sandwich to go with the coffee, rubbing at the headache in her temples and trying to avoid listening to the two gossipers at the dessert section, when the simplest of sentences drifts to her ears. One she’d have never paid attention to in the past. 

But she has become too attuned to  _ his _ name.

“...last year. Of course, it didn’t last long. How could it? She was only a scene coordinator.”

“I thought she was the editor’s assistant.”

“I might be wrong,” one of them snorts. “Either way. They banged in his trailer a few times. He had a steady interest in her throughout filming, but I heard he broke off with her once it wrapped.”

“How noble of him,” the other mutters. “At least she got to say she shagged Kylo Ren. I hope it was worth it.”

“You know how these things go, Finn,” the girl says. “The celebrity walks away without a scratch, while we commoners struggle with a tainted rep in the business.”

“Yeah,” the guy named Finn agrees. “I guess you’re right.”

There’s a long pause between them, where Rey prays they can’t hear her accelerating heartbeat. She clutches onto the counter, her mind spinning with the information, and that small voice of reason inside her screams that it had been right all along.

“Is there something burning?” the girl says suddenly.

Rey’s eyes dart to her sandwich in the small griller, mortified. 

“ _ Shit _ .”

She scrambles to get it out, but the bloody thing burns like hell. She hisses, tossing it carelessly on the counter and watching horrified as it lands on a row of neatly stacked paper cups and plates, sending them all flying. She hurries to catch a few in the air, only to smack a carafe of juice with the back of her hand, causing it to swirl dangerously on the edge of the counter for a long second before it crashes into a million pieces on the ground.

Rey freezes, feeling gazes trained on her.

“I should be thankful you’re more skilled with the scissors,” a deep voice rumbles behind her.

She turns.

Kylo Ren is looking down at her, amused, with his full lips curled in a smile. 

He’s dressed in a simple black sweater and dark jeans. No fancy costume, and no princely attitude. Just him and his freshly washed hair falling in wet strands around his head, tips curling adorably against his shoulders and the nape of his neck. 

He is more disarming now then he was on his horse.

“I— It was an accident. I didn't mean to—“ she stammers like an idiot, pointing at the mess on the floor.

“That's alright. Happens to all of us," he offers simply. "I broke the coffee maker last week."

"You—You did?" She has to admit this is the last thing she expected him to say.

_ "They don’t make them like they used to _ , is what I said as an excuse.”

She studies his straight face, wondering if he's being honest or just plain messing with her. His eyes gleam mischievously. She decides to play along.

“Replacing a coffee maker sounds harder than a glass carafe, I guess.”

“More expensive, too. It throws the production's budget completely off.” 

She can’t help but smile a little. His light mood is contagious, and his attempt to make her feel better is rather cute.

“I’m surprised the production company didn’t fire you.”

“I’ll be the first one to go when they start cutting expenses.”

“Maybe the horses, too.”

“Nah.” He grimaces a bit theatrically. “They like the horses.”

Rey is beaming at him before she can stop herself. And he is too. A little boyishly, a little shyly. A little too much for her poor heart to handle. Something inside her  _ clenches _ at the warmth of his crinkled eyes.

She needs to break away.

She drops to her knees to pick up the fallen paper cups and shattered glass.

“Here. Let me help you,” he says, crouching next to her.

“No, no don’t bother. It was my fault. I was just being clumsy.” She tries to stop him, but being so close to him makes her world tilt on its side. He smells of rich, expensive shampoo. The pricey type that no mortals have access to. “There’s orange juice all over the floor, and you’ll get yourself dirty.”

“I’ll change.”

She shakes her head tersely. "But there’s glass, too. So many broken pieces of it—" 

"All the more adventurous."

"What if you cut yourself? Start bleeding all over the floor?"

"I usually try to stay in character between breaks. No one will complain," he laughs. 

Only Rey doesn't find it funny.

" _ Please... _ There’s no reason for you to hassle over this. _ ”  _ Why is he so insistent? What has he seen in her that makes him so  _ relentless _ ?

Her fingers tremble slightly as she takes shards of glass from him. But suddenly his large hand is wrapping around her palms, fitting them both in his warm grasp. His hands are so strong, she can see it in the thick veins running down their backs. And so gentle as he holds her steady, quieting the restlessness inside her.

“I want to,” he mumbles softly.

She looks up in wonder—a deer tilting its head, curious if a wolf can become its friend. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches the two gossipers exiting the trailer.

But not before they give her a scrutinizing look, laced with a bit of pity.

……

  
  


He tries to hide his excitement to see her. He has embarrassed himself enough times as it is.

But when she's on her knees beside him, blushing his favorite shade of pink and as nervous as a schoolgirl on her first day of class, it's  _ hard _ to keep his composure.

"I don't mind lending a hand," he says, eyes darting to her high cut cleavage showing. There's a hint of a white lace bra under her patterned green wrap dress. A perfect gift, just waiting for him to tug at the ends of a bow.

Only she’s not like the others, he tells himself. 

_ He doesn’t want her to be. _

She pulls her hands from his, and he instantly misses cradling them. Her back has stiffened and her features are growing distant. Did she catch him looking down her dress? He's usually very discreet about it. He really hopes she hasn't noticed.

"I think you've  _ extended  _ your hand far enough," she says, rising to her feet and tossing broken glass in the garbage bin.

Or maybe she has.

He stands up slowly, watching as her cheeks flush from embarrassment to self righteous anger.

"Holding your hands is not that reprimandable of an act,” he says lightly, trying to dismiss the tension that’s already gathering like thunderclouds. He forgot that such a simple gesture can be more scandalous in modern days then in the era the production is reviving. “Or do I need to get in contact with my lawyer? Start selling my property to pay for the bills?”

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."

Yes, things look ominous enough.

"I’m not pretending," he says.

It's more like  _ avoiding,  _ if he’s being honest with himself. Or her. He figured talking his way around the actual matter between them might gain him some time. He never thought she'd come clean with him so fast. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t figure out that you were the one behind my assignment to Scotland?”

“I never tried to hide,” he laughs, a little indignant.

Although, he was hoping she wouldn’t put two and two together this quickly. A little more time to get into her good graces would have been convenient.

“You had no right forcing me to come.”

“ _ Forcing _ you? Aren't you overreacting a little?"

“I made it clear to you that I wasn’t interested.”

“Oh,  _ please _ . Of course you were interested. Anyone would grovel to be in your position. I have done nothing more than offer you my help, which you adamantly keep turning down for some peculiar, _ stubborn  _ reason that—"

"I don't want it."

"—holds no _damn_ _logic_." He grits his teeth. " _Why_? Why is it so hard for you to let me help you?" 

He steps closer, coming to tower over this frustrating, lovely, freckled face and the mysterious contempt it holds against him. It drives him crazy trying to break through her walls.

_ What kind of fucking walls are these? _

"Why do you keep turning me down?"

"Why do you want to help me?"

"Why is it so hard to accept a random act of kindness from someone without an explanation behind it?"

"Are you being magnanimous? Is that it?"

He rakes his hand through his hair, thankful it’s still damp and he’s not ruining whatever hairdo is meant for the next scene. He couldn't give two shits right now.

"No. I am  _ not _ ." 

"Do you want something in return?"

He barely restrains himself from huffing his frustration inches from her face. Her fiery gaze is driving him to madness, and his composure is on the verge of snapping. He begins to count to ten, and gets his numbers mixed after three. 

"I don’t want anything in return,” he drawls carefully. “You’re talented. And smart. And way too timid and reserved to make it in the business without a little nudge."

She crosses her arms under her pert breasts. It’s distracting.

"I never asked for your opinion about me."

"I don’t want you to accept my opinion, I want you to accept my  _ help _ .”

“And that’s exactly my point! Why are you helping me?”

_ Jesus, this woman. _ They’re going to keep running around in circles, aren’t they?

“You know what? You’re right. Absolutely  _ right."  _ He looks away with a bitter shake of his head. "I should have never bothered to come and find you."

What had he been thinking, anyway? What had he hoped to find? Whatever it is that he has seen in her does not matter. She’s too stubborn for her own good. It’s not worth it. 

He steps back, turning on his heel to stalk out of the trailer.

_ He has wasted his time. _

“ _ Wait! _ ” Her hand reaches to grasp his bicep. It’s so small it barely encircles half of his arm. 

It’s enough to hold him back. 

He immediately resents the power she’s gaining over him. Her nimble fingers really know how to dig their way into parts of him he keeps under lock and key. Something tells him he needs to be careful around this one. She seems to possess qualities he appreciates and traits he fears. 

All women do, afterall. To different extents.

He lets the moment hang between them before he turns to look at her. Every muscle of his face is meticulously controlled. Her lovely hazel eyes dart between his, trying to read him. It’s a truly thrilling experience to know that she  _ can’t. _

"Why did you go through the hassle to find me in New York and drag me all the way to Scotland? And don't you dare tell me it was out of the goodness of your heart, because I don't buy that bullshit. Noone— _ Noone,  _ does a favor without wanting something in return." 

He ponders on her question a little. At the simple truths it holds. Why? Why does he want to drag this woman into his life so much? Ruin her simple anonymity and watch as fame tries to tear her apart. Why is he doing this to her? She has done nothing to deserve it.

Except captivate a tiny bit of his heart. God help him if she shackles it down as her prisoner.

Suddenly he’s not so sure of himself. 

He takes an impossible step closer to her, watching as she tilts her chin high and keeps her gaze steady. Her quickened breath has a lingering scent of mint toothpaste and something else in its base. Something that is solely and entirely  _ hers. _

He wants nothing more than to lean in and  _ take it. _

“You remind me too much of myself,” he says, close enough to feel her shiver. 

He’s as surprised as she is by the words he just spoke. Words that could be such a perfect bait for a woman like her _. _

If only they didn't hit so close to home.

His eyes roam over the raw sincerity of her face before he steps back slowly. She blinks at him, a little dazed. 

He tries his hardest not to look back as he walks out of the confines of the trailer and onto the muddy terrain. 

Cool air fills his throbbing chest as he looks up at the sky. The drizzle of rain stings against his heated cheeks.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hearts are fickle things indeed. They seem to betray all sense of self preservation. Which one is the most vulnerable do you think?
> 
> PS: Dark Prince on a horse, check  
> Good boy sweater, check  
> Long hair and goatee, check
> 
> I'm open for more requests 😆


	4. The favor

Biting his nails to the quick is a habit he thought belonged in the past - or at least as far back as his first Oscar nomination. 

He doesn’t realize how on edge he feels in the back seat of his SUV - motor purring, windshield wipers swiping, fingers rapping impatiently on black leather while he waits for her to appear through the glass doors of her hotel - until he catches himself mauling at his thumbnail.

_If she appears, that is._

He removes his thumb from his teeth with a frown.

For all he knows, she might refuse today's offer to work for him outside of production. He wouldn't put it past her after the way their last meeting went. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if she didn't lay a single finger on his hair again..

Even though, they both know she is here to work for _him_.

Outside his window, pink rays of a blushing dawn attempt to dissipate the clouds that hang over the sleeping town - and along with them his worries. It's an inhumane hour to be awake, he knows. He is aware of how tired she may be. But he had to see her. Find some kind of an excuse to spend the day with her. 

God knows he has tried to stay away.

She has been in Scotland for nearly a week, and he hasn't called on her _once_ , granting her the precious space and distance she so adamantly demands of him. But the image of her hazel eyes and her soft breath on his face as she bends over to check if her work is to her satisfaction, is turning into an obsession.

He checks his watch. Twenty minutes to six. She was supposed to be at the parlor of her hotel at five thirty sharp. 

A feeling he despises starts gnawing at his insides. What if _she is not coming_? He was stupid enough to give her the liberty to choose if she wanted to come, and she is probably turning him down once again. 

_How predictable._

He chuckles to himself, and his delusions, in the heavy silence of his SUV.

He should have given her a new ultimatum.

The back door opens suddenly. Scents of rain and wet earth pour inside the stale environment, bringing along a whirlwind of beige raincoat, damp chestnut waves and clear hazel eyes. The door shuts again with a thud. 

Something settles within him - the universe falling into place, one twinkling star at a time.

“Good morning,” she says, tucking a red umbrella nervously next to her long legs.

The wariness behind her greeting doesn’t escape him. 

“Good morning,” he greets back casually. Best to not sound over eager. “I apologize for the horrible hour. Photo shoots usually begin very early in the day.”

“ _Photo shoots?”_ She echoes in surprise. “I wasn’t aware I’d be doing your hair for a photo shoot. Is this another one of your attempts to nudge my _reserved_ personality and _help me out_ in my career?”

He actually just wanted to see her, but whatever makes her feel better about his presence, he’ll take.

“You could say that.”

“Isn't Finn Trooper your personal hairdresser during filming? I thought he would be the one to be called on for the job.”

_"_ Yes, well…" 

_About that…_ He should probably just avoid giving her _details_. 

"He wasn’t able to make it. You were the next best choice, so I appreciate you agreeing to this on such short notice.” 

She looks away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Sure. No problem."

She doesn’t seem particularly mad at him - he thinks, studying the light frown on her brow. Her grudges are as innocent as dew drops. Nothing like the hurricanes that plague his business. 

What he wouldn’t do to keep her…

Their driver enters the SUV and shuts his door. The engine is already on, so he only switches gears and steers the vehicle into the empty road. Ben reaches for two steaming paper cups.

“Tea with cream?” he offers the one that is meant for her. 

She looks up at him, startled. “How did you know?”

He was afraid she’d ask. He shrugs innocently, hoping it will be enough to lighten his disposition, and smiles. “I found out from the delivery boy in our camp. I’m a good stalker.”

She snorts lightly and narrows her pretty eyes at him. "Ah. I see…"

She takes the cup from him in silence, careful not to touch his fingertips with her own. He tries not to allow the small disappointment inside him to cause his smile to waver. 

“Well,” she says, taking a small sip from her cup, sighing in secret relief as if she’s holding the Holy Grail in her hands. His eyes follow her pale pink lips. “I hope the photo shoot is indoors, because I can’t guarantee anything else besides disaster on your hair if we have to work under the rain."

He laughs at that. So heartedly, it catches him off guard. She peeks at him through her lashes a little curiously. _Good._ It’s about time.

“It will be indoors,” he reassures her. “I wouldn’t want to make you suffer in my presence anymore than I already have.”

“You’re not -” She sighs. “You’re not making me _suffer._ I feel uncomfortable, is more like it. I don’t know what to make of you at times. You say I’m reserved, but you are just as hard to read.”

“And what exactly do you want to _read_ in me?”

She regards him from her corner, hesitant morning light streaming through her window as the SUV takes a turn. It momentarily falls in his eyes, blinding him.

_See me._

He finds himself beseeching, through half shut lids.

_See through all my deceptions_.

_Please be the one._

“You seem to guard yourself rather well,” her voice reaches to him, dragging him back from frightening depths. “I wish I could understand you more.”

“I’m not that hard to figure out,” he says, taking a bitter sip of his espresso. 

The last houses of the small town pass outside the window as they enter the highway towards Edinburgh, a few kilometers away. They should have a little time on their hands. He could indulge her on some of the usual questions, if that makes her think she can get to know him better. He catches his driver’s concerned gaze in the rear view mirror, but gestures to him that nothing will be out of line.

“What do you want to know?”

She shifts in her seat, setting her tea in a cup holder and running her hands down the creases of her charcoal dress. Fiddling with the hem nervously. It barely reaches her knees. 

“What is it that you find in me?” she asks, turning in her seat to face him better. To _read_ him as she so wishes. “Is what you said the other day true? Do I really remind you of yourself?”

“Those are several questions,” he points out playfully. He has to admit that her ability to cut through pleasantries and distracting social talk, right down to the bones of a discussion, is an ability he has forgotten how to use. It unsettles him. “Something tells me you are the curious type, and I might have to set some boundaries.”

She smiles faintly, and her features warm up. His heart considers that a win.

“Alright,” she concedes. “What kind of boundaries do you have in mind?”

He hums in mock thought, sprawling himself more comfortably on his seat. His eyes drift to the rushing countryside outside his window and the glistening meadows of waking nature. Perhaps he can get a little something out of this. He is aware that she is unwinding as well, allowing the stiffness of her posture to slip away. But there is still far too much distance between them.

He smiles at his reflection and licks his lips. “You get to ask me three questions. Anything you want. I will have to answer in complete honesty, of course. But then…” he returns his attention to her, narrowing his eyes in challenge. It’s a trick he’s found works well with most women, but he can’t guarantee it will work with her. His heart starts hammering in his chest. “... then I get to have three favors from _you_.”

He swears her breath hitches over the hum of the engine.

_Don’t back down now, sweetheart_.

He holds her gaze, not allowing it to dart anyplace else. He clamps down the instinct to lean into her. Run the tip of his nose in her soft hair, inhaling her sweet, rainy scent. The image is so potent, it stirs _things_ inside him he has no way to put into words.

She nods lightly.

It’s so imperceptible he nearly misses it.

“Alright,” she says, raising her chin decisively. “Is what you said true, then?”

“Yes.”

His lack of trepidation makes her flinch from surprise. He does his best not to let his amusement show.

“Do you get inv-”

He raises a finger, stopping her mid-sentence. 

“My turn,” he declares sternly. 

She clamps her mouth shut. 

He knows he’s coming on to her stronger than she can handle. He can feel her nervousness thrum in the air between them. But he’s so damn tangled in her web, it’s hilarious to think how much at her mercy he is, and she is not even aware. 

“I want you to stop being so wary of me, unglue yourself from that corner - and come sit closer. I won’t bite,” he says. 

She gives him a pointed look before she complies and shifts closer to him. His heart stutters like the fool it's becoming. Her bare, folded knees are inches from his thigh, and he doesn’t believe he’s ever been rendered so desperate for a near touch before in his life. He wants to spread his palm over them. Bury it under the hem of her dress. 

Her next question comes when his defenses are at their lowest. Stripped raw.

“Do you make it a habit to involve yourself with people who work for you, or am I an exception?” 

She doesn't take her clear, intelligent gaze from him as she waits for his answer. 

He snorts derisively - because of course she would assume the worst of him - and searches instinctively around for an escape. He briefly considers opening the door of the vehicle and jumping out. 

_Damn gossip magazines_ . 

_Fuck,_ he wishes he could sue them all _._

He chews the inside of his cheek, trying to get his aggravation under check before he focuses on her. 

It's useless, of course.

Their eyes meet, in some kind of an unspoken battle of wills.

……..

  
  


“ _No,”_ his deep voice rumbles between them. “I do not.”

For a long moment there, as he subconsciously rakes rebellious, black strands away from his face, she believes he won't give her a direct answer. He seems rattled. Vulnerable. This man certainly knows how to surprise her. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I didn’t mean to put you in a difficult spot.”

“Yes, you did.”

His expression is as indecipherable as ever, but his annoyance is evident in his eyes. It’s the first time she feels like she has truly brought him to his limits. The other day at the food trailer doesn’t even compare.

“I overheard some gossip a few days ago. A rumor about you and an assistant in last year’s filming that I assumed was true...” She pauses, weighing his dark gaze. Wondering how far she can push him. He has a strange tolerance to her rude behavior. 

“It's true. But that wasn’t your original question.”

“Does this mean there is more behind your interest in me than your wish to help me?”

“That is a fourth question, which I will obviously not answer,” he declares.

"That's not true. I only got to ask-"

"Just because there was no question mark at the end, doesn't mean there wasn't a question. I gave you the information you needed to hear."

He is agitated. And defensive. And it’s hard to miss the haunting shadow that crosses his features. She could pressure him for more, find out what went down last year. Maybe shut down whatever is happening between them before it even begins. But there’s a melancholy about him that he tries to cover. It must be the most sincere revelation she has witnessed so far. He is only a man, afterall, under the spotlight, with a carefully constructed persona as an armor for the world to see. His weaknesses are still those of any other human being.

She can’t help but ache for him a little. Perhaps they have more in common than she initially believed. 

"I still believe you cheated me out of the last question," she says.

Part of her regrets the way she wasted them. She could have found out so much more about him.

He smirks, satisfied. But it doesn’t soften his eyes. 

“According to our deal, you still owe me _two_ favors," he raises his fingers to accentuate his point. "After our long and cumbersome photo shoot - which will drag all morning, I am certain - we will both be famished. I will ask you to go out with me for lunch, and you will be kind enough to accept. Yes?” 

He raises an eyebrow at her expectedly. 

“I don’t back down on my word.”

“Excellent then,” he says lightly, as if the shadow that had fallen between them was a mere figment of her imagination. “We have a date.”

Rey rolls her eyes and reaches for her tea. His confidence should annoy her. Not flatter her. “I’d hardly call that a date."

"It can involve a kiss if you're interested."

It takes all she has not to choke on the small sip she has taken. She glances over at the driver mortified, but he is talking softly on his headphone, unaware of the discussion taking place in the back. She couldn’t be more thankful. Surely this man enjoys messing with her. If she were to look a him she’d probably catch him gazing down at her smugly, just waiting for the wrong word to slip.

_What a jerk._

She really knows how to pick ’em. 

"If you're willing to pay for my lawyer, then maybe I _would_ be interested."

He chuckles. That captivating deep, laughter that resounds in her chest and fills her heart with the thrill of beautiful, endless possibilities. _Of_ _reckless dreams..._

It's the most terrifying emotion she has ever felt.

Rey takes a careful sip from her paper cup, completely aware of the way he's looking at her right now. Her cheeks begin to burn under the intensity.

Through the car window in back of him the quiet, sleeping suburbs of Edinburgh pass by. From afar, the city's imposing castle is bathed in golden light. The same light that shimmers in his hair, turning raven black into amber. 

It's a breathtaking view.

But he only has eyes for her.

"So what’s the third favor?" She asks, trying to sound nonchalant. Unperturbed by his angelic halo and mercurial mood swings. What is the worst thing he could ask of her, anyway?

He curls his lips.

“That…” He brings a long finger to the tip of her nose “...is a favor I will call on when the time is right.”

Rey stares at him with a pounding heart.

She is falling. _Fast._ And no force in the sky can save her.

She is vaguely aware of the vehicle coming to a stop at a traffic light. Of people crossing streets and going about their everyday, simple lives when hers is upturning. Of renovated buildings, and opening shops and ruffled trees lining the streets. The promise of a new day hanging in the morning colors.

She is aware of _him,_ sitting close enough to take her breath away. Signing his name on her heart with a flourish. Brandishing her.

And in the end, walking casually away.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because love never lasts in the movie industry unless it's in a movie. Right Rey?


	5. Fairytales no longer exist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay... Will you forgive me if I share with you a bit of my sinfully, luscious indulgence? Just a soft strand maybe?
> 
> Special thank you to @pisinoe for her delicate palate and help in wine selection;)
> 
> Betaed by my partner in crime MyJediLife

It has been one month, three weeks and four days since she last touched his hair. 

She would be lying to herself if she pretended not to count. 

Her body sighs as her fingers thread in his hair and rake down it's length, like it’s some sort of long awaited homecoming, here under the bright lights of a studio's dressing room in the heart of a city called Edinburgh. It's an odd, intimate, and slightly guilty feeling that can easily turn into a dangerous addiction. Normally she should be ashamed about allowing herself to indulge in the hair of a client. But who is she trying to fool anyway? The lines between them are rather blurred already.

He tips his head back a little, as she tugs lightly at his strands, just enough to expose his Adam’s apple and long neck to her hungry eyes. She really, really likes his neck she decides. But above all she loves how her fingertips disappear in his waves. His thick, silky,  _ luscious  _ waves that are way too soft for her own sanity.

He shifts in his seat, causing her heart to stop. But he only sniffs contemptuously at something he reads on his phone and swipes at his screen. 

_ Good.  _ He doesn’t seem to have noticed.

He is engrossed scrolling down his e-mails, from what she can tell, a deep frown etched on his brow and a pout on his mouth. The same pout she has read about on tabloids and seen him wear down red carpets, but has never actually witnessed herself. In fact, he has shared with her more smiles than she can count. But there is no denying his brooding, pensive nature now. It makes her wonder which sides of him are genuine, and which ones are his facades.

Or if she will ever be able to tell them apart.

She bites her lip in thought and returns her attention to the way his tresses slip smoothly through her fingers. The way they curl at the ends…  _ God, she can do this all day..  _ Rey has combed and styled a good number of healthy manes in the couple of years she has been working at First Order salon, but she has to admit that she has never felt a visceral need to weave her hands in one before. Especially a man's. 

She wants to grab a fistful and  _ tug _ to her heart’s content.

He looks up.

"I'm not wearing a wig if that’s what you're trying to figure out."

She freezes from fright. "Pardon me?"

“You’re pulling my hair," he declares with a raised brow, but there’s something mischievous in the way he regards her. 

_ Like he’s on to her. _

She clears her throat. "I'm simply deciding which way to part it," she feels a blush creep traitorously to her cheeks. “The photographer asked for an elegant but untamed look, which is a bit of a contradicting request, actually, and I’m trying to _ envision _ what he has in mind.” 

"I didn't mean to interrupt your  _ envisioning. _ " He smirks and sets his phone on the booth. "Is there something I could do to help you? Flip my hair to the side?"

“What? No. No, of course not.” Has she really been making such a fool of herself?. “This is strictly in my line of work. I’m sure I’ll come up with something good.”

“That’s what you’re here for,” he drawls, eyes dancing in amusement.

_ Right.  _

Only it's not so simple to believe when he stares at her through the mirror the way he does. 

She smiles politely at him and picks up an actual  _ comb. _ She decides to braid the top part of his hair for some extra waves. If she concentrates on her work hard enough, maybe she can ignore her shaky legs and wild heartbeat. 

She vaguely remembers not having had anything to eat earlier in the morning, apart from the tea he had offered her at the car. Snacking from the small breakfast table in the photography studio seemed impossible when they walked in. And how could it not? Her stomach was tied in knots, and her heart felt lodged in her throat as he languidly took the time to introduce her to the crew and their eccentric photographer, who casually informed her that the photo shoot was for the main cover of one of the upcoming issues of Rolling Stone. 

All this with his hand touching the small of her back lightly, and her name on his lips as if it was always meant to be there. 

It had all made her world spin.

"So is this what the photographer had in mind?" He shifts his profile to have a better look in the mirror. His ears peek adorably through his strands.

Rey covers a smile with the back of her hand. It's impossible to hold a straight face at his exaggerated frown. "Well, not quite, but we are on the way there."

"I hope it doesn't take long - because your styling technique is devastating to my ego."

Rey giggles, loud and clear, and he peers at her with a smile of his own spreading on his handsome face.

She comes to stand in front of him, bending over to adjust the braids with the pointy end of her comb. There’s a natural part in his hairline that has a mind of its own. She has noticed it in the countless pictures - she has actively been trying to avoid looking at those these past couple of months - and she wants nothing more than to finally tame it. 

"Trust me. I know what I'm doing," she mumbles, too focused on picking at his hair. She swears she noticed a little premature grey amongst the ebony brown. One more sign of the pressure this man lives under, and the exhaustion that comes with being a public figure. Along with the carefully covered up bags under his eyes and the tiny crow’s feet at the sides, Rey admits there is a flawed allure to him she never thought existed in his picture perfect world. 

She feels the harsh fabric of his jeans brush against her bare legs, tingling up her skin. She realizes suddenly that she’s standing between his thighs. She had no idea that she had come so close. Close enough to count the beauty marks on his pale skin, and the long lashes framing his eyes. His soft, liquid,  _ pretty  _ eyes that she swears are a mirror to his soul.

_ No one should have the right to carry their soul in their eyes _ .

His breath comes out a little shaky.

His gaze lowers.

She thinks it rests on her lips, but Rey is not sure. She's not sure about a lot of things these days. Except for the wild beat of her heart when she’s near him.

"I'm glad one of us knows what they're doing," he says softly, his breath caressing her lips. "Because I don't trust myself about many things right now."

Her heart stops.

If Rey could have one moment in her life,  _ one moment _ , that she could snatch and frame, cherishing it above any other memory, she realizes with the sweetest dread that this would be the one. This very one, with this man gazing at her as if she could stitch together stars and weave a constellation. 

She pulls away. Steps back with her hand clutching at the butterflies in her stomach.

His dark gaze follows her. 

"Are you almost done?" A voice breaks the brittle moment between them.

It takes a few seconds to find her voice, while he remains silent with that heavy gaze stripping her heart bare.

“Just a few more minutes,” she answers in a hoarse voice. 

The woman disappears and joins the voices drifting in from the studio. Rey positions herself in back of him again, wipes her sweaty palms on her wool dress, and picks up her work. 

It’s a struggle avoiding his eyes in the mirror.

  
  
  
  


“So, are you working for him?”

The tall, stylish woman that had popped in to check on them has been standing next to her for a little while now. They are watching Kylo run through a series of poses with just the aid of a stool in the middle of the vast studio, and a brick wall as background. A photographer with a bandana on his head and coal rimming his eyes chews his gum at an aggravating speed while giving directions to him under the ceaseless clicking of his camera. 

There have been just a few breaks. Enough for him to change shirts or add a leather jacket, or have the makeup artist powder his face. Rey got to correct a strand of hair that had fallen out of place, secretly dabbing the sweat on his temples when she got the chance. 

His gaze of helpless gratitude for the small relief she provided him with has never made her feel more needed.

Mostly, however, she has stood at the side, in awe with the effortless way he shifts through positions and personalities in front of a camera, giving the photographer an immense variety of shots to choose from later. Kylo is very focused on his work. Rey is starting to understand the reason behind his growing popularity. His blockbuster movie about a war in a galaxy far far away for sure played a huge role bringing him under the spotlight, but it takes talent and devotion to stay at the top.

“Yes, I guess you could say I work for him,” she answers the tall blonde woman that has been eyeing her out of the corner of her eye like so many others in the room. Rey tries to ignore them.

“I’m Phasma, by the way,” she says, releasing a cloud of smoke slowly through her nostrils. She extends her arm to flick the ash of her cigarette in a cracked ashtray on a ledge. “I happen to have worked with Kylo Ren in the past, too. He is quite a challenge.”

“Oh?” Something ominous stirs in the conversation. Everything about this studio unnerves her. From its tall windows and endless ceiling down to the graffiti and polished, wooden floor. It's overwhelming, and way out of her league. The only thing she wants to do is to hide in a corner of the enormous studio with her brushes and scissors and do his hair. This is what she’s here for. Not to meet half the movie industry in a day. 

Kylo rakes his hair away from his face in that distinctive way of his, making her chest clench. He seems nervous.

“I'm Rey,” she answers back, because she hates being rude despite her trepidations. She glances at the woman. She is dressed in a shimmering, silver blouse, that along with her slicked back, platinum hair and tall height, make her easily stand out. Phasma smiles at her, pale nude lips accentuated by smoky, blue eyes. They read her like an open book.

Her heart starts beating painfully in her chest.

She should get away. Grab a chair to sit and eat something. She hasn’t been feeling too well all morning. 

“Υou seem like a decent person, Rey. I’m sorry to see you dragged into this business.”

“I’m here because I want to be,” she says defensively, and instantly regrets it. She hates giving strangers the leverage they’re seeking. And this woman, Phasma, is out for something. “I don’t see why it’s any of your concern.”

“It's not. But there's nothing wrong with a little friendly advice.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She turns to regard her, feeling the intensity of Kylo's eyes on her. This woman looks anything but friendly, and Rey has learned to see behind the pretty smiles.

“You must be aware of the rumors concerning Kylo Ren’s behavior last year. Some secrets don’t leak into the tabloids. They are well kept. But word still gets around," she pauses for effect, taking an indulgent drag from her cigarette. Rey refuses to take the bait. 

"I'm not interested in gossip."

"This isn't gossip, darling. Charges and settlements rarely are."

Cold sweat breaks on her brow. She begins to feel lightheaded. "Charges? What kind of  _ charges _ ?” 

The clicking of the camera echoes strangely to her ears.

Phasma blows a tulip of smoke in the air before she adds with all seriousness. “About the sexual harassment, of course. What else?”

Kylo catches her eyes. The world whites out.

  
  
  
  
  


_ It feels as if she’s walking on clouds.  _

_ Floating, wondering if she will ever reach the sun. A plush red carpet is soft under her heels, making her step light. Free. But the beaded dress she wears is heavy and tight, barely allowing any air to breathe.  _

_ The lights are blinding.  _

_ The voices are drowning.  _

_ She doesn’t know which way to look.  _

_ “Don’t be afraid,” a deep voice rumbles in her ear. A large, strong hand is laced with hers, thumb running softly over her knuckles. “You and I are all that matters…” _

  
  
  
  


“Are you alright?” 

She wakes to find a pair of brown eyes looking down at her with worry. She feels her body cradled securely against a solid chest, and her feet dangling uselessly in the air. In her haziness she realizes she’s being carried. 

She rubs at her temple, at the throbbing pain that shoots across half her head. “What happened?”

“You passed out,” he says. “One moment you were chatting with Phasma, and the next you were sprawled on the ground. I think you hit your head. Scared the living shit out of me.”

She rubs at her head, which feels as if it’s not quite in its place yet, as he sets her down on a couch. It's soft and plush, and she sinks down on it as if it’s made of feathers. 

“How do you feel?”

“Embarrassed,” she mumbles helplessly.

He smiles tightly, but it doesn’t alleviate the worry in his eyes.

His large, warm hand pushes away hair from her face, caressing her cheek and forehead in that gruff, tender way that only men do. It’s the most reassuring thing she has felt in a very long time.

A number of faces pop into her line of vision, with expressions ranging from curiosity to polite concern, and asking if she’s feeling ok. But they don’t hover for long.  _ He _ doesn’t let them.

“Make room. Let her breath,” he growls. The undertone of command is not something she can miss even in the state she is in. “And someone bring me ice for her head.”

She tries to get up. She hates dragging attention to herself. “No, please. There’s no need. I’m fine, I just got a little dizzy.”

He stops her with his large hand cupping her shoulder, urging her to lie back down. “You hit your head. Don’t be in such a hurry to get on your feet. We might have to get you checked out at the ER.”

“The ER?” Her mind whirls with the bills that will accompany such a visit. She’s no longer insured with the NHS. “No. Absolutely not. I”m not going to a hospital because of a bump on my head.” 

She tries to get up again. But he cups her head between his large hands, careful not to hurt her. He leans in to catch her eyes.

“You passed out, I’m not going to have you roaming around the fields of Scotland with the fear you might get swallowed up by a mudhole if I lose you from my sight.”

Rey is momentarily rendered speechless. He seems so genuinely worried for her, upset, as opposed to the polite concern that’s usually the norm in such situations.

“I’m fine,” she insists, trying to sooth his tension by setting her hands on top of his. “I just got dizzy because I was anxious and didn't have anything to eat all day. You’re in the middle of a photoshoot. Please, don’t keep everyone waiting because of me.”

“Nothing will happen to them if they wait a few more minutes.” 

“There’s no need to. I feel  _ fine _ .”

He hesitates. Dark eyes roaming over her features as if he could assess that she’s truly safe enough to let go. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she says in a low voice, still mortified at the thought that she passed out like some lady in distress. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

“You’re no trouble.”

“I brought chaos to the photoshoot,” she winces. 

“That’s absurd,” he snorts comically. “Photoshoots are chaotic all on their own. You wouldn’t be able to mess them up anymore if you tried.”

She squeezes his hands that are cradling her head. A need to let him know how much she appreciates his attention suddenly overcoming her. “I didn't mean to worry you..."

His thumbs caress her cheeks roughly again, filling her heart to the brim. 

Making her feel fragile. 

"I know…"

_ Valuable _ .

She stares at him as if it's the first time she sees him. Really  _ sees _ him.

A pack is handed to him out of nowhere, wrapped in a towel. 

“Sir, the ice.”

And just like that the pink bubble they were floating in bursts. 

"Thank you," he mumbles without raising his head.

Rey looks up to see it’s Phasma. The woman's final words before she passed out return to the forefront of her mind, and along with them slithers a sickening feeling. She recalls the alleged charges that were mentioned. 

She takes the ice pack from Phasma and sits up abruptly, moving away. She tries to ignore the expression on his face when his hands drop.

Rey could flat out ask him if the charges are true. She has already asked him questions that were just as rude. Only - of course he would deny them. Who on their right mind would admit to sexually harassing a woman? She wonders briefly if his unexplained fascination and unconventional pursuit is a trick he pulls on every woman who interests him. And how many fall for it the same way she has.

No. Getting involved with this man and the status he holds would be wrong on so many levels. 

She is not some modern day Cinderella waiting to be rescued from her ashes. And Princes on their high horse don't have the right to kiss a Sleeping Beauty in today's society.

_ Fairytales no longer exist. _

Rey feels like she needs to clarify things between them. But somehow she feels even sicker than before. 

“How about we get you something to eat?” He offers, carefully. He must be aware of the wariness in her stance. "There's a small place not too far from here where we can have lunch."

She nods briskly, pressing the ice pack to her temple. Her eyes begin to sting at the playful echoes of a  _ date _ , so she looks away from him. "We can go once the photoshoot has wrapped."

She feels him studying her for a long moment, before he pushes himself to his feet. The spot he had occupied next to her instantly turns cold. He scans the studio with a frown, gaze falling on Phasma laughing at something the photographer is describing.

A storm shadows his face.

"Oh, believe me, it already  _ has." _

……..

Their walk to the bistro a couple of blocks down is silent. Oppressively so. He has a very good idea why she has suddenly fallen so quiet around him, not that she has ever been particularly talkative to begin with. He doesn’t know what he can say to convince her otherwise. She barely knows him enough to believe his side of the story. And she is already extremely wary of him.

Coming across Phasma at the studio is the way the universe has chosen to fuck up his life even more than he already has.

He opens the glass door to the small corner bistro for Rey to go through. He curls his fingers in a fist inches before he touches the small of her back. Touching her would only make things worse for his already tainted image. And he would only have himself to blame.

“Welcome,” an elegantly dressed woman in the entrance greets them with a practiced professional smile. “Do you have a reservation?”

_ Well, shit.  _ Like two hours from now. He didn't think he would be storming out of the photoshoot prematurely.

“We have arrived earlier. They are under the name of Amilyn Holdo.”

The woman darts her eyes at him discreetly as recognition settles in, despite the misleading identity of the reservation. He has seen it play out a million times. He knows it’s his cue to push a little in order to get what he wants. He gets his table, the bistro gets one more celebrity to brag about. And Amilyn gets to kill him.

Everyone is happy.

He leans in, lowering his voice to conspire a deal under the table.

“I would appreciate it if you could help us out with a table for two in a secluded part of your diner. I’m trying to avoid attention.”

He smiles just enough to not seem flirty with her. It’s the last thing he needs in front of Rey.

The woman’s excitement over acknowledging who he is can barely be restrained. She smiles widely in her blood red lipstick and sets her hair behind her ear.

_ Perfect _ . She caught on.

“Of course, sir. Follow me.”

Rey’s hazel eyes turn to him in surprise. They look so big and radiant under the dreary city light that falls through the spotless wall to wall windows, he momentarily runs out of words. But then she presses her lips in a tight line and he knows he’s screwed.

She turns her back to him, following the woman balancing her way between the tables on her ten inch heels. A couple of heads snap in his direction, but he could care less right now. He only has eyes for the slim woman in front of him, and the way her hips sway delicately in her dress with each step. He wishes he had an excuse to run his fingers over them the way  _ she _ does about his hair. 

He bites his lip not to smile. For all he knows she might turn and catch him ogling her. Her indulgent little moment earlier in the morning practically gave him a hard on.

Their table is tucked in a corner, with a wall of interior plants shielding them from most curious eyes. It’s not perfect - but it will have to do. His chances of getting a kiss from Rey are fairly slim, anyway. In fact, he’ll be lucky if he avoids a slap on the face.

The woman hides the reservation card behind her back, before informing them that a waiter will be back to get their order shortly.

He pulls one of the chairs out for her.

“I believe I can do that myself,” she snaps. 

He clamps down the urge to run his hand through his hair in frustration. He knows she’s pissed. He gets it. But there's nothing wrong with accepting a small gesture of old fashioned courtesy. Most women don’t even get that nowadays. 

“I know you’re able to look out for yourself. This is something I want to do.”

She glares at him for a long moment, while he waits patiently for her to give in. She is a stubborn little thing, indeed. 

He wishes to every single star in the galaxy that he could meet her all over again, and give her the time she needed to allow him to get close to her. It feels like he is chasing after a frightened deer half the time. Only he is not some monster out to snatch her from bed at night, or devour her in a haunted forest, for fuck’s sake. He is just… 

He sighs to himself. Down to every corrupt cell of his body.

His eyes meet hers. Steady and direct. Something tells him this will not go the way he had hoped for. He’s at the end of the line. And all he can do is hold on and hope for the best.

“I know what Phasma has told you, and I’m not here to win a case or prove myself. I’m here because I’m attracted to you. You can take this information and do what you want with it. Just the way you can sit in the chair I'm holding out for you or not,” he pauses for a moment, an overwhelming feeling building in his chest that he doesn’t know what to do with it. “ I won’t ask for anything more than you are willing to give. I don’t believe that I have…”

She blinks at him, her beautiful eyes darting between his anxiously. Like she’s trying to read if he’s being honest with her. He has never cursed his profession and his rotten reputation more than now.

She nods lightly. And sits.

The feeling of relief that courses through his body nearly makes his knees buckle.

A waiter in his crisp uniform is there to hand them a menu before he takes his place opposite her. Rey fiddles with the small, porcelain vase filled with fresh daisies in front of her, as she listens to the waiter name the courses of the day. She is nervous and unsettled, and he doesn't know if she will ever be able to lower her walls. Let him in…

She orders a refined version of fish and chips with a green salad on the side. He orders the fillet mignon with asparagus and truffle dressing to go on top, of course. And a bottle of Romanée Saint-Vivant, preferably of '99 - because he will definitely need it.

They talk vaguely about the weather. About the filming, and the countryside, and every other little tedious thing people who are strangers talk about. He dares to ask her about what brought her to New York, while her eyes widen in amazement at the sight of their plates being served. But she clamps down soon after, so he knows her past is a red flag and doesn’t push anymore about it. 

He is not surprised when she finally asks him if the charges are true.

He chuckles in surrender, setting his fork down. He chews, mulling over his answer and swallows carefully.

"I was hoping we could leave certain things in the past. They don't need to affect whatever happens between us."

"Even if that were possible, the rumors would still haunt me. Do you have any idea how it felt being completely blindsided by that woman?"

"That woman deliberately wanted to bring you into a difficult spot. She knew I was interested."

She leans in, fork hovering in the air and back as straight as a rod from tension. "Why would she care so much? Why would anyone want to bring up such a topic to a complete stranger?"

He chews the inside of his cheek and looks away. The bistro is full by now. People are chattering with smiles on their faces, content about spending time with the person they care about. Laughing. He has never envied the carelessness of laughter before. A couple holds hands facing each other in front of the main window. 

_ Simple. It could all be so simple... _

"Unless the charges are true…" Rey continues. 

He smiles bitterly. Shakes his head. "It looks like you have already come to a conclusion. Does it matter what I say?"

"You can always deny them."

"Perhaps I don't want to."

She blinks at him, taken aback. “Why not?”

Because he’s tired, he wants to say. Tired of people and always assuming the worst of what they hear. He hoped she was different. He hoped she was interested enough to trust in him. Trust in what her instincts tell her.

Perhaps they tell her to stay away, after all.

“I will not defend myself about a case that was closed over a year ago. It concerned my personal life, and I am not obligated to discuss any of it.”

She blanches at the steel in his voice. She lowers her eyes to her half eaten food. She toys with what remains before setting her fork down and pushing away her plate. It seems like she is done. Done with more than just her food.

“I see…” she says, and her voice wavers lightly. It resonates in the hollowness taking over his chest. “Well then, you will have to understand that whatever is happening between us will have to remain strictly professional.”

She lifts her gaze and he holds it. Holds it like it will be the last she will ever give him. 

Clapping resounds suddenly in the small room, and they both flinch. It wraps around the smiling couple he had seen earlier. The man is on his knees, offering a sparkling ring to who must be his fiancee now, and they are both beaming. Through the window behind them rain falls, a curtain of it so thick city life can barely cut through it. It’s an odd image. Contradicting.

As contradicting as the emotions currently pounding inside him. He wants to get up and leave and never set eyes on this woman across from him again. He wants to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless until he has no more breath inside him. 

It’s tearing him apart...

“Would you like some desert?” their waiter asks politely. 

He hadn’t even noticed the man had approached their table. He barely restrains himself from telling him to fuck off.

“No, thank you. We’ll be on our way. It’s been a very filling...  _ meal _ .” He sets his cloth next to his half eaten plate.

Rey looks away. But not before he sees a fine sheen of tears in her hazel eyes.

“And I would appreciate it if we could use your back door to leave,” he adds. 

There are a few people hanging around aimlessly outside the bistro that do not look very hungry. It’s the last thing either of them needs right now.

“Of course, sir. I’ll see to it right away.”

  
  
  


The drive back is silent. The pounding rain escorts them all the way to her hotel. 

He has felt her gaze on him on a few instances, clawing for his attention. But he couldn’t look at her. Not without closing the space between them and pulling her body to his. Latching his lips on the pulse of her neck, feeling her slender fingers tangle in his hair, kissing the obscenities of their worlds away. Never letting her go...

It would not end well.

Their vehicle comes to a stop in front of the main entrance of her hotel, tires screeching lightly on the wet asphalt. The exit is on his side so he climbs down first and extends his hand to help her out. Surprisingly enough, she takes it. Holds on to it longer than he expected.

“Thank you for lunch,” she begins, twirling slim fingers in front of her. “I still believe you should have let me split the bill with you. There was no need to pay for everything. Not after…” 

He silences her with a look. 

He doesn’t use it often on people, but he couldn’t bear to hear anything more about the way their ending came to be. 

He watches her eyes turn molten and her bottom lip quiver lightly, and  _ fuck _ if he doesn’t want to take it between his teeth right then and there. Suck on it and slide his tongue into her mouth. But he is done. 

_ So done _ .

“Goodnight, Rey.” He stands by the door, arm wrapped over the metal, waiting for her to realize that this is it. She had her chances and fucked them all up. Time to go.

His jaw is clenched so hard, his teeth are starting to hurt.

She turns her back to him in the blink of an eye. Her ruby ballerinas slosh on the wet pavement as she rushes towards the doors. 

He gets in the car and shuts the door, feeling a strange numbness take over him. His driver catches his eyes on the rear view mirror. 

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out, sir. She seemed like a down to earth kind of girl.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, turning his attention to the leaden clouds. They are so opaque not a single ray of the setting sun can penetrate them. “I am too, Mike.”

A blinker goes off, and the SUV smooths into traffic.

He pulls out his phone, scrolling down his missed calls. A few unknown numbers, Amilyn, his mother… Too many to get back to this evening. He opts for deleting them all. He’s in no mood to talk.

Except...

He doesn’t know what makes him search her name in his contacts. As if seeing her name on the screen will fill the void she has left behind. His thumb hovers over the number.

No. He is being ridiculous.

A few unshed tears are not going to make him call her.

It only takes a couple of stop lights before he has his phone on his ear and his heart bruising against his ribs. He stares at the flickering neon lights of a movie theater currently playing some film about star crossed lovers, and counting the number of rings on her end of the line. 

He chews his thumbnail.

She picks up just before it goes into voicemail.

“ _ Hello?” _

Of course she doesn’t know who it is. He hasn’t given her his number. Obviously that changes now. 

“I still expect you at my trailer for the first shoot tomorrow morning at seven. I can have my driver pick you up if you have difficulty getting to filming,” he states, going firmly down a list of demands he has constructed in his mind because of her. He can’t let go.  _ Why can’t he just let go? _ “I’ll have my manager get in contact with you and give you my schedule for the next month, and also send you our contract to sign. If you need a lawyer to read through it, let me know.”

He pauses, hearing nothing but a light, quickened breath from her end. He doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know what  _ any _ of it means. He doesn't know if she’s angry, or nervous, or crying those glistening tears that are seared in his mind from the moment he dropped her off.

“This is my personal number,” he continues. “So it’s needless to say you are not allowed to give it to anyone else. When I call, you will pick up. When I ask for you to come in for work, you come - no questions asked. This is what I demand from the people who work for me, do you understand?”

There’s a long pause on the line and he shuts his eyes, praying to the heavens she answers. He doesn’t know what he will do if she doesn’t.

“ _ I understand.” _

“I will not enter your personal space, I will not address you unless it regards our work. Do you accept the terms?”

He sets his forehead on the glass of his window. He wants to tell Mike to turn around and take him back to her. He doesn’t know how he will sleep tonight.

“ _ I accept.” _

“Very well, then,” he exhales. “I will see you tomorrow morning.”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

Another awkward pause. He can’t get himself to cut the call. He rubs his eyes with his fingers, listening to her faint breathing on the other side. It matches the tempo of his own. He can’t help but wonder if she’s aware of it, too.

“ _ Goodnight, Mr. Ren,” _ she eventually says. Delicately, before ending the call with a click.

_ Ben, _ he finds himself pleading in the void between them. Only a handful of people know his real name. How he prays she could be one of them...

He squeezes his phone in his grasp. 

Anything to relieve the tightness in his chest. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the torture begin!


	6. Walking next to gods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's this saying that goes something like, Kylo Ren on the streets and Ben Solo in the sheets. Or is it the other way around? Hmmm...
> 
> Special thank you my fellow Graveyard shifters for their clear eye and help in the English touch-ups. And my eternal gratitude to MyJediLife for her beta skills and overall support. 
> 
> And please forgive the delay in updating and my lack of response to everyone's warm, wonderful, inspiring comments *hides behind hands in embarassment*. Your presence spurs me on to write a lot more than you can imagine.

She is running late—ballerinas tapping hurriedly down the linoleum floor of a corridor at Stage T in Pinewood Studios, breaths coming out in misty puffs, and cursing inwardly at her alarm clock and its stone age mechanism for failing once again to ring at the expected time. She knew she should have set a second alarm on her phone, especially after knowing this would be her first day filming in London. 

Rey dreads to see the expression on his face when she barges onto the set three hours late.

She tugs on the strap of her shoulder bag, hoping none of her hair picks have slipped out of the hole at the bottom, and pushes open the last doors to the studio.

Instantly, she steps into a different era. A huge medieval banquet hall opens up before her—all dark stone, shadowed corners and imposing emblems. She tries her best not to tip any of the walls over as she hurries across. She hops down the winding paths of a battlefield and its immense green screen in the background, and slides through the luxurious rooms of a palace decorated in golden tapestry and ornate furniture. 

Set 37 shouldn't be far, judging by the numbered signs οn each set. And so it seems, because lights are on at the far end of the stage, and she detects the usual bustling of crew that hangs around filming. 

She sprints the last remaining meters, steeling herself for what her day might bring.

Rey felt relieved when production wrapped up in Scotland. It had been two long, exhausting weeks of cast members, stuntmen and extras parading through her team’s trailer to get their hair and makeup done.The only highlight of her day was that one hour every morning, before the sun had even dawned, where she would get to groom and style Kylo’s thick hair according to his needs—whether that was a luscious mane one day, or a mud caked disaster the next. They didn’t exchange many words. Rey understood he wasn’t a talker, but she knew very well there were other reasons behind his distant behavior toward her. He remained polite—she had to acknowledge his good manners—but it was as if a door had been shut between them, severing whatever strange connection had been built. She noticed in his interactions with other members of the crew he was amicable enough and respectful, but not generous with his emotions. Only a select few had access to the warmer side of his personality. 

Rey was not one of them anymore. 

It made her realize how  _ privileged _ she had been for that short time he had showered her with attention. 

If this was his way of getting back at her for rejecting him, then Rey was glad she had made the right choice—or so she told herself at the end of each day, when she dragged her aching body to her hotel room and reflected longingly in the small insignificant smiles he would grace her with on occasion. 

_ Like some infatuated fan... _

She halts before entering the set to catch her breath.

How could she be so stupid? So careless with dreams? Pining after a movie star because he took her out to lunch and claimed to be attracted to her. Did she actually believe his interest could last beyond an eventual quick fuck? A few rumples in the sheets at best? 

No. She has made the right decision. Especially after knowing the gossip that goes around.

A strong grip tugs her behind a camera.

"Where have you been?" Poe hisses. "Filming was delayed for almost three hours because you wouldn't pick up your phone. I had to get called in to substitute for you."

"I know, I know… I am so sorry. I overslept and didn't hear my alarm go off." She pants, hurrying to put her hair up in a bun and securing it with the pointy end of a comb.

"You're not even supposed to  _ need  _ an alarm clock after working a month in a production of this scale. Your stomach ulcer is meant to keep you up at night."

"Honestly, Poe! This is the first time I've been late to filming."

"Try telling the director that. Or worse.  _ Him."  _ He jabs his thumb in the direction of the set. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to add extensions in Kylo Ren’s hair?"

"Oh... come on. It doesn't take  _ that  _ long.“ Her friend has the tendency to over exaggerate situations. She’s certain Kylo would never be rude to anyone because of a bad hair day. 

_ Or would he? _

"Am I fired?” She asks, feeling her face pale. The prospect hadn’t crossed her mind until now.

Poe smirks, eyes crinkling as if they hold a dirty secret. "If it were anybody else I’d say probably, but I doubt it in your case."

"I am good at my  _ job _ ," she stresses, raising her brow at him. "Nothing more, nothing less."

"You are good at any job if you put your _head_ to it.” He wiggles his eyebrows at her wickedly. “He would have been a very lucky bastard if you weren’t so prudish."

" _ Poe,"  _ she warns. 

"I'm kidding, you know I'm kidding," he raises his hands in defense.

Rey stares at him, annoyed. "Tell me what needs to be done for today."

"There's not much left for you to do. They are already filming, so just a few touch ups here and there will be needed. It will be a breeze for you."

"Sounds easy enough."

"It is. You'll do fine. I trust you completely. In fact, I trust you so much that I will go now and catch up with you later."

"What? Absolutely  _ not.  _ I don’t even know what the scene is all about. _ " _ She raises her voice in alarm.

A couple of heads turn in their direction. 

Poe waves them away and drapes his arm around her shoulders to hush her. "It's my day off. Like  _ hell _ I'm going to waste it around here. Not even for you.” He pulls away and cradles her face to catch her attention. “Now listen closely, all the products you'll need are already set up by the bed. I added corn syrup into the red spray bottle to make his hair stick to his skin, so whatever you do, don't mix it up with the hair mist."

Rey blinks at him utterly confused. What  _ bed _ ?

"Why do we want his hair to stick to his skin?" She asks, a little miffed. She thought they were done with his combat scenes.

"Look around you. Why do you think?"

That's when it dawns on her—that they are standing in a bedroom set. A very old looking bedroom set with wooden furniture, fake animal pelts on the floor and a double bed draped in embroidered curtains and heavy, fur covers. 

Something about the whole setting makes her stomach twist.

_ Oh. _

"Try to enjoy the show." He winks and pats her shoulder in encouragement before he swaggers out of the studio. Rey watches him go with a lump on her throat. So much for having a friendly face around.

The director calls for positions, so she hurries over to the center of the take.

"Good of you to join us, Miss Niima. I hope we haven't inconvenienced you by bringing you in for work today." The director deadpans.

She presses her lips, swallowing her snarky comeback. She thought Hux was bad. "No, sir. Not at all."

He side eyes her sourly. "Fix his hair. We're rolling again in five." He orders, plopping into his designated seat behind the cameras.

Her eyes fall on the small screens zoomed at Kylo. 

But it's not until the camera moves to the side to reveal a full view of him entwined in the fur covers, that she realizes what she is up against. A makeup artist is in the process of applying lotion on his torso.

His very naked, smooth and muscular torso. 

Rey forgets how to breath.

"Miss Niima, get moving. We haven’t got all day," the director urges impatiently. She practically jumps into action. She approaches the bed, completely conscious of the state of undress he is in. Only a bit of fur is draped over his midsection as he lays propped on his elbow.

He senses her and looks up, eyes widening just a bit to indicate his surprise.

“I’m sorry for being late,” she mumbles, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and unzipping her bag. “My alarm didn’t go off. It won’t happen again.”

He doesn't look satisfied with her excuse, judging by the way he clenches his jaw. She ruffles through her products, trying to ignore his heavy gaze. 

The make up artist, a middle aged woman who seems completely unaffected by their exchange, or the fact that she has been shamelessly rubbing his body, wipes her hands on a towel. “All polished and ready, Mr. Ren.”

“Thank you, Dolores.”

“My pleasure,” she winks and turns to Rey. “Looks like it's your turn now, doll.”

She smiles tightly in response, as the woman gets off the bed. She can feel Kylo watching her, a storm no doubt brewing behind the deceitful calmness of his features.

Rey inches closer, leaning in with a comb to add volume to the roots of his hair, desperately trying not to peek at his glistening body. She was always aware he was a big man—tall and wide and strong. But seeing all this expanse of skin against the white sheets of a bed suddenly makes her realize many things about his size. 

She squirms, trying to find a comfortable position. 

"Lift your head," she orders softly, tilting his chin up with her fingers. He obliges without any resistance, dark eyes studying her face.

One of his hands comes to rest next to her knee.

_ " _ Were you up late?" He says, deep voice wrapping around her like velvet.

She struggles to remain impassive.  _ Professional. _

"A little."

She reaches for the hair mist, shaking away fantasies of his big hand sliding up her thigh,  _ exploring _ … She begins to dampen his hair while he watches her carefully, weighing her movements. 

His breath fans on her wrist. __

"Was there a  _ reason  _ you were up late?"

She pauses, trying to figure out what lies behind his simple question. Her mind is in a bit of haze, and her judgement is not the clearest.

"Why do you ask?"

"You look tired."

"I  _ am _ tired. Exhausted actually. These past few weeks have been rough."

"Ah. Yes. Of course… For a moment there I thought that—" he waves vaguely in the direction Poe had been standing. 

She side eyes him curiously while combing a few strands into place. Is he inquiring about what kind of a role Poe plays in her life? If he is trying to find out her  _ sleeping _ habits he has an interesting way of asking about them. __

“Nevermind… ” He mumbles, with a light shake of his head. He bites his lip, hard enough to bleed, as if he is frustrated with himself. Uncertain. 

He shifts, furs ruffling lightly.

Her face begins to heat as she realizes that just a small accidental tug of the covers could completely unveil…

“If you need a break from production you can always let me know.” He leans in to say. He seems concerned.

"Um…" she stammers—mind completely void of words. Her pulse pounds in her ears at the proximity between them. "No, I believe I can handle the pressure. I always work better when I feel cornered or running out of time.”

“You like being cornered?” His lips curl lightly.

Rey swallows and switches spray bottles. She picks up the one with the syrup. 

“Wrong phrasing,” she laughs nervously. _God,_ _she knows how to put her foot in her mouth_. She twists the tips of his hair, trying to control the trembling of her fingers. “What I mean _is_ , I prefer working under pressure because that’s when I give my best performance.”

“So is this your best performance, or should I apply more pressure on you?” He smiles, eyes crinkling mischievously. “ _ Corner _ you?”

Her eyes snap to his. Is he just teasing—or actually  _ coming on to her _ ? Or is she just reading too much into it? His gaze remains steady. Waiting. Studying. Making her skin tingle with the mirth and anticipation hidden behind it. 

He is messing with her. No wonder he gets into trouble.

“I think I should finish with your hair before the director decides to use my paycheck to cover today’s budget.”

He chuckles, this deep sound that reverberates in his chest— _ bleeds _ its way into hers. He reaches out and picks at the comb that holds her hair in a bun, releasing it. Rey flinches in surprise as it spills over her shoulders. 

“What do you think you’re doing?’ she hisses, blushing furiously. She can’t believe he is being playful in front of the whole production _._ If anyone notices …

A strange smile plays on his lips as he twirls her comb in his fingers.

“Gaining leverage," he says. "I’m the one who is half-naked and completely defenseless in front of you.”

“You didn’t mind being half-naked in front of Dolores.”

“That’s different.”

“How so?”   
  
“She’s married.”

Rey snorts, returning her attention to his hair. “I highly doubt that would ever stop you.”

“Is that another assumption about me?” 

She pauses to look at him. That is actual  _ hurt  _ crossing his features, no matter how good he is at masking it. She hesitates for a heartbeat, deciding to backtrack on their chat. 

“I wouldn’t call you defenseless,” she says, continuing her work.

"And what would you call me?" He challenges.

He is still smiling at her, bemused. But she senses the vulnerability behind the teasing in his voice. She once would have never noticed.

She spritzes a few strands with starched water to frame his forehead and temple. He looks rumpled and sweaty and Rey is really beginning to like her work. She is beginning to like the way she can mold him. Sculpt him.

“I’d call you direct. They say offense is the best defense. At least in sports and games." 

Rey pulls away slightly to take a better look at her creation. She is starting to see the power she wields for the first time since she has met him. "Do you feel like you need to defend yourself against me, Mr. Ren?”

All semblance of professionalism melts away when she lowers her eyes to look at him.

He stares back, a flush to his cheeks and breath accelerating against her sensitive skin. 

“Are you almost done, Miss Niima?” A voice barks in the background, shaking her back to reality.

He tears his eyes away.

It takes her a moment to regain her composure. “Yes. We’re good to go.”

She packs her things, avoiding looking at him as she gets up. Her body is electrified, her head is swimming - and her heart feels as if it will break through her ribs and soar to the skies. But she doesn’t look back. She won’t give him the satisfaction.

As she approaches the camera, a woman steps onto the bedroom set, dressed in a light robe. It swivels, hugging the curves of her body as she walks and comes to stand by the bed. 

Rey recognizes Bazine Netal—his co-star and alleged recent flame. It’s the first time she sees her on set.

The woman removes her robe and lets it drop to the floor. She gets on the bed.

Rey looks away, feeling her limbs go numb.

The woman is naked.

She finds it hard to concentrate after seeing her straddle him. A voice echoes in the distance, ordering for the camera to roll. The snap of a clapperboard resounds through the fog of her mind. Rey can barely breathe when Bazine’s lips descend on to his. 

She wants to look away, but realizes that she can’t. It’s a warped, morbid, fascinating curiosity that binds her in place—that puts a spell on her. Her heart beats frantically against her ribs, begging to be released. It’s all becoming too much to bear. The way he moves his powerful body, the way he arches his back, the way his features go slack with ecstacy. 

_ The way he thrusts into the woman… _

And then the covers slip away from the bodies, leaving little of him to the imagination. 

Rey swallows around a parched throat. A deep throb spreads between her legs.

The order to cut rings in the air, shaking her back to the painful reality—ripping her back cold from another dimension. 

Kylo is instructed to take his initial place in the bed, and Bazine Netal to straddle him once again. He nods awkwardly with his eyes cast down.

The scene begins to play from the very beginning, looping over the same movements under the coaxing instructions of the director.

But Rey can’t watch it.

She turns around, desperate to get the image of them out of her mind. There is no way she can stomach anymore of such an intimate scene taking place a few paces away, no matter how fake it’s meant to be. In fact, she doesn't believe she will ever be able to watch him touch a woman again in a movie without feeling her heart twist into a knot. 

"Are you alright, hun?" Dolores sets her hand on her back, sounding very concerned. "Should I get you some water, or a chair to sit on?"

Something about the unexpected kindness pushes her over the edge. Tears pool in her eyes, and her throat clenches. 

It's  _ insane _ . 

Absolutely ridiculous—breaking down in the middle of work over a stupid love scene. She must be so tired, so stressed and wrung dry from overtime and exhaustion, that her body is acting out of her control. 

A sob threatens to burst through, and Rey shuts her eyes tightly. A small whine comes out of her throat.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong? Did something happen?" Dolores cradles her shoulders, pats her hair away from her face. It's oddly soothing and comforting, a motherly gesture Rey has not come across in a lifetime. 

"No. It's nothing. I'm fine…" she blurts out, trying to rein in the avalanche of emotions. But it's no use. It's no use denying how she feels anymore—what he has made her  _ feel. _

The order to  _ cut  _ rings across the enormous stage once again. 

Rey wipes her face and stinging eyes, trying to get a hold of herself.

She can't allow herself to be seen in this condition. She will be called to fix their hair soon enough. How will she appear in front of him in such a state? How will she do her job _? _

Because it's only a job, she tells herself—what he does, what she does, what any of them do. 

It's only a fucking  _ job _ .

Dolores hands her a tissue, saying something about how exhaustion can be overwhelming, and how she will feel better when she gets to rest. Rey nods and wipes her tears away. She blows her nose.

It's not as if she can do anything else at this point.

She is somewhat under control when she gets called on the set for corrections. She has to arrange Miss Netal's hair all over again because it has slipped from its holds, but thankfully Kylo’s doesn't need much work.

She combs his hair and mists the ends, feeling dissociated from her surroundings. But she can feel his heavy, penetrating gaze seer right through her. Her eyes are red and swollen, and it's blatantly obvious she has been crying. She hopes he doesn't figure out why. 

If only there was a stone she could crawl under, to never have to feel those beautiful eyes on her again. 

"All done," she rasps.

He hesitates for a second before delivering the final blow. "Thank you…  _ Rey _ ."

She lifts her eyes to look at him, and she realizes that he must  _ know.  _ Know about how painful the scene must be for her. About the yearning that resides behind her dismissiveness, and the crippling loneliness that has been the only constant partner in her life. 

Her eyes blur.

"You may go now," he adds softly, wiping a budding tear from the corner of her eye. 

  
  
  
  


The next morning she receives a message from him stating that her services won't be required for the remainder of the week, and that her next assignment will be for the Graham Norton talk show next weekend. He will send her details later this week.

Rey turns off her phone screen and shifts to her side, burying her head under the heavy blanket of her bed. 

And shuts her eyes.

  
  
  
  


Sunny days in the beginning of winter are more rare than a friendly smile in the London underground. 

Rey doesn't see him at all throughout her week off, and does her best to keep her days preoccupied while her friends continue to work.

Her first stop is her old neighbourhood on the East End of London. She walks down the puddled roads she has grown up in, takes a seat at the broken swings of her favorite park, stares at the familiar worn out graffiti on run down apartment buildings—as if nostalgia could fill in for the years spent alone without her family. 

It turns out memories have as much substance as thin air. They can’t replace the warm caress of a finger, or the throbbing beat of a heart.

The belonging she seeks, she realizes, is not in the past.

So Rey takes walks through Hyde Park instead. She visits the section of Buckingham palace that is open to the public, she stops by Tate modern to have a look at the most recent artwork exhibit, she even takes a boat cruise on the Thames, squeezed between tourists from Japan.

But her mind only has room enough for one thought.  _ Him _ . And he swallows her days like a black hole.

It’s a freezing Sunday when she ends up having lunch with her friends. Soho is brimming with life, and people who are out to have fun despite the bitter cold—a vibe in the atmosphere that Rey tries to inhale to the fullest. Anything to help her get her mind off him and the turmoil he has brought to her strict, methodized emotions.

“I don’t understand why you continue to torture yourself,” Rose says, snapping a pair of chopsticks at Rey over her Teriyaki beef. “You clearly don’t want to get involved with him, and I don’t blame you. It's not as if it will lead anywhere. But you can’t let yourself be this affected because he won’t pay the same attention to you anymore. You can’t have it all, Rey.”

"It's not like that." She pouts, twirling her drink with her fingers. Rose has a very blunt way of calling her out on bullshit.

“I still don’t understand why you won’t just let him lay the pipe,” Finn says, leaning into his straw for a gulp of Cola. But the smack he earns from Rose has Rey smiling into her glass. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Rose glares at him. “That’s the stupidest thing you could say to a woman. You’re being a complete ass.”

“What I’m  _ trying _ to say,” he hurries to correct, glaring back with equal intensity as he rubs his shoulder ”—and it probably came out wrong, is that Rey is clearly into him, and he seems to be interested in her as well. So why not make the best of it and have some good times? What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Get fired.”

“Look like a slut.”

He waves them off with a spring roll. “Yes, I know all that. And it will probably happen. But you might enjoy it, and actually have a good time with him while it lasts. You should live a little. You know?” He darts his eyes nervously between the two of them. “Say you got to shag Kylo Ren.”

“Seriously, Finn?” Rose exclaims, appalled, but Rey can’t say she feels the same. 

“And if you don’t enjoy it, just sue him for his money like that assistant did a year ago,” he continues, popping a pea in his mouth. 

“Those are just rumors,” Rose says. “Nobody knows what went down between them. It’s all very hush hush.”

“Yes, I know. And I’m not really saying Rey should do anything like that.”

“What  _ are  _ you trying to say, Finn?” Rey says, interrupting their well intended banter about what would be the best way to live her life. She can’t say she knows Finn very well, or trusts him. But he has worked in the business longer than either of them, and he has a more well rounded impression of Kylo than a lot of people she has come across. 

Finn sets his glass down and turns to look at her somberly. He seems to mull over his answer for a second or two.

“I don’t believe he is a bad man. He is decent enough, although a bit of an ass. But nobody in this business is an angel. I think you should be careful if you decide to have a fling with him and not get carried away by fantasies, or you might end up heartbroken.”

Silence descends on their table. A honk sounds at the end of the busy street, followed by screeching tires. Someone starts swearing in a foreign language. But their attention remains on Finn.

“That’s it. That’s what I had to say,” he shrugs.

Rey nods, trying not to let her disappointment show.

“But if you do get to marry him and become our modern day Cinderella, put in a good word for me and say I’d like to work for Scarlett Johansson. She’s hot.”

Rose snaps her head in his direction. “ _ What! _ ”

“Fortune cookie anyone?” he offers.

Rey dissolves in laughter despite the little ache she carries at his advice.

  
  
  
  


His dressing room backstage at the talk show is bustling with activity all afternoon. Rey has to interrupt her work several times while he gets off his chair to greet visitors, ranging from the host of the show coming in to welcome him, all the way to the band’s drummer swinging by for a chat. 

A few beers are brought over, and some thai food is laid on the coffee table. It’s hot in the room, and stuffy, and Rey starts sweating underneath her white knit sweater. A thin cloud of smoke swirls in front of a non smoking sign. Two cigarettes are lit, one of them being his.

Rey knows he is nervous. He is always nervous when it comes to public appearances.

He springs off his chair to shake hands with a well known actress who has just walked in, and happens to also be a guest star at tonight’s show. Rey lifts her hands up in the air for the umpteenth time, clutching on to the comb and hairspray she was just about to use on his hair.

At this rate she doesn’t believe she will get him ready on time. 

The actress smiles at him charmingly, asking how he’s doing. He takes a drag of his smoke, releasing it to the side before nodding. “Good good… A little wiped, actually. Have you read the script for Transaction yet? Did Scott Burns send it to you?”

They fall into an animated discussion about some upcoming movie they will both be in, as Rey taps her foot on the floor. Her patience is running thin, and time is running out.

“Mr. Ren, I really need to finish your hair,” she interrupts them after a few minutes have gone by. The actress eyes her, a little annoyed, but Rey doesn’t care. She has had his attention long enough.

“Ten minutes till you’re up,” an assistant announces, popping in with one more flower arrangement to set on the counter. His dressing room is already starting to look like a rainforest. One more arrangement and Rey believes they will be able to open up their own flower shop.

He exchanges goodbyes and a  _ see you on stage _ with the actress before he takes his seat once more. There’s a commotion as his visitors get on their feet, patting him on his shoulder or making plans for a drink later on as they finally file out of his dressing room.

The blissful silence that follows rings like heaven to her ears.

He takes a long drag of his cigarette, holding it in for a heartbeat before he releases it. The smoke streams through his nostrils in relief.

He shuts his eyes with a frown and pinches the bridge of his nose. It looks like he is having one of his headaches again. She is not surprised, since he has been on his feet since dawn filming.

“Do you want a painkiller?”

He shakes his head, eyes still shut. “No, I’m alright.”

“Is it a bad one?”

“I’ve had worse.” He glances at her for a second with a tiny smile.

Rey nods, fingering a strand away from his forehead gently. There is something solemn about him tonight that makes her chest ache. He has been so quiet and withdrawn, more so than he usually is, and she doesn’t know what to say to break the ice between them.

“Will you remember not to run your hand through your hair till the end of the show?” She asks, setting his waves carefully with hairspray. 

He gives her a short chuckle, and leans over to put out his cigarette in an ashtray. He keeps his eyes averted. “I’ll try. But no guarantees.”

“The strands on your right side are very rebellious. So whatever you do, try not to mess with them much." She caresses the shiny tips with her palm, reveling in the way they fall back into place.

"Maybe the host will let you join me on set in order to avoid such a tragedy."

She snorts. “There's only so much I can do.”

“You did manage to get that bubble gum off my hair that other time. Don’t underestimate your powers.”

“That I did.” She smiles, remembering the panicked look on his face when he stormed into her trailer in his shiny knight’s armor with a piece of gum stuck on his extensions. “You never told me how that happened, by the way.”

“That’s because I'm trying to erase it from my memory,” he smirks, that impish little curl of his lips that she has so missed seeing this whole week. He glances at her hesitantly from the corner of his eye. As if he’s uncertain if he’s allowed to. As if it’s best that he  _ shouldn’t _ . 

She holds his gaze. Tries to see what thoughts are behind it. But he doesn’t give her enough time.

“I think I should get going,” he says, uncrossing his long legs and getting off his chair. “They’ll be knocking on the door any minute now.”

Rey nods, putting down her comb and hairspray and wiping her hands down her skinny jeans. Her palms are sweaty, and it’s not only because of the heat in the room. 

She watches him put on a black blazer over his black shirt, set his phone in his inside pocket and take a gulp of beer from his bottle. They don't call it liquid courage for nothing. 

“I guess I’ll see you at filming,” she comments, trying to see what his plans for her are for the next few days.

“I’ll get in contact with you and let you know,” he says vaguely, making his way to the door. He barely spares her a glance. He is grasping the handle when Rey decides to stop him. 

“Mr. Ren?”

She really has no reason to. There is nothing for her to fix or correct on his hair. But it’s been such a long time since she has been on a one to one basis with him that she doesn’t want the moment to end.

He looks at her over his shoulder.

She opens her mouth, but not a single intelligible word seems to want to come out.

“Is there something you want to say?” He asks, regarding her with that indecipherable way he has mastered. 

Rey chickens out. “Good luck on the talk show.” She finishes lamely.

He nods and steps out.

There’s a rush of laughter and clapping resonating down the corridor. A few fans with backstage passes immediately approach him with phones, asking for autographs and pictures. He smiles politely and agrees to a couple before security flanks him. 

Rey steps out just as he is ushered down the corridor.

Her legs seem to have a will of their own as she hurries down behind him. There is something she needs to say to him, and it has to be now. The words are practically stifling her throat.

The laughter of a crowd fills the dimly lit corridor again, like a tidal wave that comes and goes under the gravitational pull of modern day entertainment. A man’s voice over a microphone announces Kylo’s presence. Lights suddenly invade the entrance to the stage.

“Kylo!” She calls out. As if her voice could ever be heard over the roar of applause that spills over the walls. 

He halts amongst the blinding lights, a few steps away from stage—a halo swallowing his shadow as if coming from another world. As if he is some kind of mythical god gracing humankind with his divine presence. It suddenly makes her realize how far apart their worlds are. How vain of her to dream, even for just a bit, that he could stay in her world. That she could ever be part of his. 

Mortals cannot aspire to eat and drink amongst gods. It’s hubris.

“Yes...Rey?” 

She blinks at him, chest aching and throat constricting from what she wants to say. She wants to ask this god if she could see him later, or tomorrow, or whenever. Maybe have a drink at a pub, if he isn’t too busy. Which she knows that he is. The fact that he once had enough time to have lunch with her seems so far away now. Almost a miracle.

The crowd chants his name. She can’t keep him bound any longer.

“It’s nothing important, sir. Some other time maybe.”

She feels his eyes on her for an endless moment, dark and intense and all knowing. They send shivers up her arms. She squints against the light that stings her eyes.

“Maybe…” he echoes, setting his hands in his pockets. “Since it’s not important."

A hollowness spreads inside her. A kind she hasn't felt before. 

He turns around and gets engulfed by the light— walking into his world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This girl keeps throwing away opportunites. Honestly now, how many more will she have? Or has she run out?
> 
> A side note. I have brought to life my Tumblr account as koderenn. It felt like that scene in TLJ where Luke steps into the Millenium Falcon after years and years of self exile and watches all the lights power up, lol. It was the place I started my reylo journey and it felt really good to be back. If anyone is in the neighborhood, drop in for a hello!


	7. Poisoned honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who is still onboard despite my inexcusable absence, thank you!! I hope this update will leave you hungry for more ; )
> 
> Inspiration for this chapter "Say something" by Kadiatou
> 
> Betaed forever by MyJediLife
> 
> Note: at the bottom of the update there is a link for a piece of art by @alcalafas for Tangle me. Check it out!

“Αre you feeling alright, sir?”

Kylo tears his gaze from the airplane’s viewport reluctantly. The stewardess’s voice is sweet and polite, with just the right hint of wavering to make it sound concerned to the average client. But he has come into contact with enough people in his life to detect the detachment beneath the pleasant sound. 

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Would you like some water perhaps? A refreshment before we’re up in the air?” She presses on politely. Her eyes, he notices, are hazel.

“No need,” he gestures dismissively, fighting to get another pair of big, sad hazels out of his mind. He wasn’t aware his melancholy was so obvious to a stranger. “What time will we be departing? There’s already been a two-hour delay.” 

“We should be leaving within the next hour. An earlier flight to New York was canceled and some of the passengers are boarding this flight as we speak.”

He presses his lips tightly. Amilyn will have a stroke when she finds out the flight's arrival time at Kennedy. The premiere for Space Wars doesn’t start till 7pm, but the preparations before it…

He winces in dread at the mere thought of what awaits him. 

When he signed up for acting school, his romantic dreams failed to include the tedious preparations of red carpet events. If he had known better, perhaps he would have considered selling vacuum cleaners for a living instead. Although the vain, ambitious part of him knows that given the choice, he would have still taken the exact same steps that have led him where he is now. 

Doing what he loves best in a world he wishes he could escape from.

He stares at the stewardess in defeat. “So all the empty seats will probably be occupied, right? Including the one next to mine?”

“Quite possibly, sir.”

“Is there something I can do to avoid that?” Bribery is the logical way out of the situation—an autograph, free tickets to the movie premiere, a candlelit dinner, perhaps. She gives him a polite but condescending look. Yes, he’s aware he sounds like a spoiled movie star, but he could care less anymore.

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

“I see...”

“But if there’s anything else you might need, let me know,” she chimes before walking away.

His frown is even deeper when he returns his attention to the flickering lights of an airplane touching down in the distance. 

Night shrouds the lanes where their British Airways 747 airbus will soon be taking off. Hints of the upcoming dawn stain the horizon in blue, and only the sporadic lights of the airport can be seen. He finds the view as bleak and uninteresting as the people aboard first class.

Except for one person, that is _. _

Seated to his right, two rows in front of him and studying the pages of a travel magazine with a hungry fascination. As if the cerulean seas and white sands could disappear from the face of the Earth if she flipped to the next page. 

Something tugs on his heartstrings, making him wish he could have been the one to show her the world. Watch it twirl in her slender hands.  _ But no _ . He has sworn not to waste a single thought on her again. She belongs in the past. He is moving on, and staring at her like a lovesick idiot won't do him any good.

He pinches the bridge of his nose at the rising frustration inside him.

Some things are easier said than done.

Since their memorable  _ date,  _ he has gone through great lengths to avoid her. And yet not a single day has gone by where he hasn’t craved to hear her guarded  _ good mornings _ , to feel her delicate fingers working through his hair—a part of himself he regards as private and intimate. It physically hurts refraining himself from showing what she does to him. What her sad, pretty eyes do to his wretched heart every time she catches his gaze in the mirror. 

But ever since that first day of filming in London, ever since he watched those eyes brim in tears because of an insignificant love scene, he has decided that he can’t hope for her acceptance anymore. And perhaps it’s for the best. Simple feelings like attraction, curiosity, the visceral need to get to know someone are all inconsequential sometimes. Sacrificed at the altar of his profession.

He bites the inside of his cheek and tears his gaze from her profile.

He should have learned his lesson a long time ago.

Yet here he is now, despite his better judgement. Trying to convince himself that she’s no one important. That she’s just a passing fascination, like so many other people who stroll through his life.

He’s happy to see that at least he has convinced  _ her. _

He leans his head back and shuts his eyes, trying to empty his mind. Sounds of shuffling feet, murmurs and clicking of overhead compartments fill the cabin as the new passengers take their designated seats. Luckily the seat next to him remains vacant. No drunken rock star will fill his head with snoring. No CEO will be tapping on his laptop during the hyper- Atlantic flight. And thankfully, no millionaire’s wife of questionable ethics will be chattering his ear off with her cleavage on full display, until he picks up on her discreet offer for a quickie in the bathroom.

It looks like he will get to sleep a little after all.

They’re up in the air not long after—his guts dropping as the plane accelerates and soars into the air, engines whirring to reach the designated height. The dawning sun blinds him as they finally get past the sea of clouds. But the sensation of his stomach drop doesn't go away. Not as long as he feels her presence so close—sees her delicate profile glow under the morning rays. 

She is transcendent. Like a renaissance angel stepping out of a fresco. 

A Beatrice in the divine comedy of his life. 

He grunts, and rubs at his face in exasperation. Next thing he knows, he’ll be dedicating poems to her. All the literature he’s read in his life is slowly driving him to insanity. An older lady gives him the side-eye from across the aisle, reminding him not to draw any more attention to himself. He must seem like a madman.

He shuts his eyes again and sets his head back, determined to get some rest. 

He’s traipsing somewhere between this world and the dreamworld when a light clearing of a throat jerks him back to reality. He looks up, heart skidding to a stop when he realizes who’s standing next to him. 

“Would you mind if I sit?” Rey points nervously at the empty seat by the window. ”Some guy is snoring next to me, and the seat next to your bodyguard is taken. I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it looks like the flight is booked. Even coach is full, and there’s no other place for me to—”

“You’re not sitting in coach,” he declares.

“It’s no big deal. It wouldn’t be the first time,” she shrugs. “And I wouldn’t be asking if that man wasn’t so wasted. He reeks of alcohol and sweat, and I think he belongs in some kind of a band, but I’m not sure. I don’t want to impose, but it’s another five hours at least before we arrive in New York, and—”

He gets to his feet, knowing her nervous rambling won’t cease until she’s tucked between the viewport and his seat. 

“Rey, it’s fine. I don’t mind. You're not inconveniencing me.”

“Are you sure?”

_ Christ. “Yes.  _ Do you prefer sitting by the window?”

She is clutching on to her purse as if it holds her life belongings, and she seems so anxious he can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. That’s all it will take for her to demolish his defences, he’s certain.

“No. It’s alright. I can sit on the aisle.”

That’s a  _ yes, I want the window _ in woman’s language, so he extends his hand at the seat nobly and makes enough room for her to pass through. “The window is yours. I insist.”

She smiles timidly.

Yes, he definitely doesn’t stand a chance.

She brushes his chest with her shoulder, carrying that fresh citrus fragrance he has grown so fond of—a small haven of spring in the sterile environment of the airplane. She settles in the seat as if she belongs there while he stares at her like a fool. Her hair is up in an elegantly messy bun—the kind only hairdressers know how to make—and wisps of hair caress the soft curve of her neck. But that’s not what catches his attention. It’s that fire red bra strap peeking over her bare shoulder. The wide neckline of her Nike sweatshirt is meant to cause heart attacks to even the fittest of athletes.

The old lady across the aisle narrows her eyes at him.

He hurries to take his place next to Rey.

He wonders briefly if he should tug her sweatshirt over her shoulder. Or even better, tug the strap  _ down _ , but he shoves the thought in the dungeons of his mind before it grows any further. That old lady doesn’t seem very fond of him. For all he knows, she will alert the crew for indecent behavior or chuck him with her handbag.

“So. Are you ready for the premiere?” Rey asks, after a few terse moments have ticked by in silence. 

He regards her curiously with raised brows. Small talk is not part of her social skills. “I am never ready for them. I try not to think about them until I’m actually there.”

She smiles. “Of course. It’s fairly known that big events make you feel uncomfortable.”

He cocks his head lightly, as the spiteful side of him emerges. “At least  _ that _ rumor is true about me.” 

Her face falls immediately. He considers apologizing for the briefest of moments, but bites his lip instead. Like hell he will allow the main issue between them to be cast aside this easily. 

He picks up a travel magazine, trying to ignore her eyes on him. 

“Listen,” she says eventually, sounding very determined. Too determined. ”I don’t make it a point to read up on celebrities' lives, or believe in rumors. I’m not usually interested. But you must understand that the way you came into my life, the way you brought me into yours, is very unorthodox, and nothing could have ever prepared me for it. You’re one of the biggest rising stars of Hollywood. My boss barely remembers my name. We are a world apart. You  _ must _ understand my hesitation.”

“Fair enough.” He flips a page.

“Which is why I feel like I need to apologize for jumping to conclusions about you without knowing all the facts.”

“There’s no need for an apology,” he skims the page, trying to seem interested in what he’s reading. “You’re looking out for yourself. It’s completely understandable.”

“Is it, though?”

“Yes. Perhaps I would have done the same if I were in your position.”

She mauls over his answer while he realizes that he’s been staring at a picture of the Eiffel tower, pretending to be reading. He flips the page, aggravated with himself.

“But perhaps you  _ wouldn’t _ have done the same?”

He clenches his jaw. He really doesn’t understand where she’s going with this. If she’s not interested in anything more than a professional relationship with him, then there’s no point in rehashing their past.

He sets the magazine down and turns in his seat to look at her. Her gaze doesn’t waver from his as she waits for his answer. Not a single breath can be felt between them.

“Perhaps I would have taken a moment to get to know you better before jumping to conclusions.”

He watches his words settle, little stones of realization sinking in her mind.

Her eyes mist. She nods lightly, whispering in a thick voice. “Yes. Of course…You’re right. Good answer.”

She tears her eyes away, and looks out the window at the golden rays and heavenly sky. There’s a falling sensation again in the pit of his stomach. He wishes he could blame it on an air pocket, but he knows very well it’s because of this strange woman that has come into his life, tying his heart into knots with daft fingers.

A sudden urge takes over him. An aching need to reveal something about him. Anything to keep her here. Close to him.

“I love theater,” he says suddenly. 

She turns her head slowly to look at him, a mix of hesitation and curiosity in her beautiful eyes. He struggles to hide his eagerness, but it spills through his cracks. She senses it somehow. 

“I know you went to Juilliard. That you’ve played in small parts on Broadway. I haven’t been to any plays in my life, but I would love to go to one someday.”

“It’s an incredible experience,” he finds himself sharing, at the edge of his seat. “Especially the first time. Simply unforgettable.” 

She nods for him to continue with a liquid smile. He licks his lips.

“Theater takes over all the senses. You don't just see and hear the actors performing on a two-dimensional screen, but you  _ feel  _ their emotions reaching out, you  _ taste  _ the anticipation in the room, you witness the connection being forged between the actor and the audience. The vibration in the air, it’s …” he runs his hand through his hair at a loss of words for the first time in years. He feels like a boy struggling to describe his biggest adventure.

“It sounds magical,” she fills in for him softly. There’s a strange light in her eyes, and he can’t look away.

“It  _ is  _ magical. It’s the art of acting in its purest, most condensed form. It provides the actor with a sense of completion. I don’t know if you understand what I’m trying to say. It’s so hard to explain…”

“I believe you are doing a fine job. Tell me more,” she urges, and something inside him whispers that her interest is genuine. That she’s not just toying with his ego like most women do these days. So, he decides to trust his instinct and open up. Share a part of himself he hasn’t dared to approach in years. 

_ Too many years. _

He speaks of his first role on the plank, of the first applause vibrating through him as he stood hand in hand with his comrades. He speaks of the vulnerability, the bone rotting anxiousness before a premiere, of forgotten words and aimless pacing. He speaks of history, of the strange popularity of  _ Fiddler On The Roof, _ and how  _ Tobacco Road _ was banned for years overseas in the 40’s. Of a broken Fantine singing “I dreamed a dream” in  _ Les Miserables _ . Of Oedipus blinding himself under the moonlight in ancient theaters. 

He speaks of all this and she listens quietly, asking the right questions and stoking a passion that has been burning inside him for years.

“Why haven’t you done any plays? You clearly come from that world. Why have you been away from it for so long?” She asks at some point.

He struggles to come up with an answer. But there is none. “I don’t know.”

“Are you afraid of failing?”

“What makes you say that?”

“You belong in Hollywood now. You have a reputation to uphold,” she says carefully, giving a voice to some of his biggest insecurities. Setting them under the spotlight. “It would devastate you if critics spoke badly of your acting. At least I think that’s how you see it.”

He rakes his hand through his hair. This woman’s candidness can be so painful. 

“But if you feel you want to prove yourself, then maybe you should give it a try,” she continues, softly. “You love theater so much.”

He rubs his hands down his thighs—an anticipation building inside him that doesn’t seem to have an outlet.

“Would you come to see me?”

She blinks at him, surprised. “Would you like me to?”

“You said you’ve never been to a play before. I would like to see your reaction to it as your first time.”

The blush he loves to see spreads on her cheeks. “I’m sure there would be a large audience and a long line of fans wishing to see you.”

“So?”

“You would be too busy. You wouldn’t have time to—”

“I’ll always find time for you.” 

He can practically feel her heart stop as she stares at him with wide eyes. He’s being brash and overwhelming, and she will scurry away and hide in the next heartbeat, he is certain. But if he could have this one single moment from her. This first experience… He would never ask anything of her again. 

“Say you will come,” he says.  _ He pleads. _

But she only shakes her head, scattering his hopes. “I don’t make promises. Not unless I know I will keep them.”

He looks away, with one more rip running down his seams. He focuses his attention on the cart of refreshments being wheeled down the narrow corridor, on the scent of coffee brewing in the air. Anything that can help get himself together before she notices. He should be used to being turned down by her by now, but each time stings even more than the last. 

He  _ hates  _ it.

“It’s alright,” he says. “I don’t want you to feel pressured. Besides, once our contract is over at the end of filming, your obligations towards me will be complete. You will never have to see me again. In fact, all you need to do is say the word and I can release you from it at any given moment. No setbacks.”

His tone of voice is bitter, and the gaze he levels her with is cruel. But he can’t help it. He hasn’t stripped himself raw in front of someone in a long time. Of course, her rejection would feel like salt to his wounds.

“I don’t want to be released from the contract,” she says softly. Her hazel eyes are alight with an understanding. As if they see right through his pretentious act. “And I never said I wouldn’t come to see you if you decided to star in a play. I simply said I couldn’t give you a promise. It’s hard to predict where we will be a few months or years from now.”

Now it’s his turn to feel his face heat in embarrassment.  _ He can be such a jackass _ . And to think that just a few moments ago he was practically chastising her about jumping to conclusions. 

“Well, good,” he struggles to save face. “I’d hate to look for a new stylist hours before the premiere in New York.”

She smiles warmly at his lame joke, but something cold washes over him. An unexpected dread at what her reaction will be once she sees him walk down the red carpet tonight. Because he won’t be alone, and he doesn’t know how to prepare her for it. Until an hour ago, he thought she wanted nothing to do with him. He thought he didn't stand another chance.

_ He thought— _

He licks his lips, grappling to find the words. His heart twists in his chest.

“Would you like something to drink?” A pleasant voice asks behind him. “Coffee or tea?”

Rey’s attention turns to the stewardess. And just like that all the courage he had been trying to muster vanishes into thin air.

Turning him down is the wisest choice she has made. 

It’s a pestering thought, that he tries to get out of his mind for the rest of the flight. But it turns out to be impossible. Especially when her sleepy eyes fall shut eventually, and her head lolls on his shoulder. He knows she is blissfully unaware and will be mortified with herself when she wakes up, but until then he figures he will take what he can. No matter how little it is.

He asks for a blanket to cover her bare shoulders. The old lady across the aisle is for once minding her own business.

And when he turns his head to bury his nose in her hair, he tells himself that heaven is only meant to last for a few moments. But the memory of it is what keeps the souls sustained for a lifetime. 

  
  


….

  
  


“You must be Rey,” 

The tall, slim woman that opens the door to Kylo’s suite offers her hand for a shake. Her grip is terse but strong, the kind men usually have, which is the reason Rey is so pleasantly surprised by it. This woman seems to stand solidly on her two feet in this brutal business. 

She grips her hand right back. “You must be Amilyn Holdo, Kylo Ren’s manager. It’s good to finally meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” she smiles. “Kylo has told me how satisfied he is with your work and your manner of conduct. Believe me, this is a demanding industry and he is a hard man to please, especially when it comes to his hair. He is very particular about it, so you must be doing a fabulous job,” she continues with a wink, stepping aside to let her into the suite. 

It’s a modern yet elegant room, in pale earth tones with a brush of baroque in its selection of furniture. A perfect example of today’s trend in interior decorating. 

Rey feels horrible about stepping onto the cream plush carpet of the room with her worn out heels. 

His manager shuts the door behind them and gestures for her to enter the lounge. She’s polite, but Rey can’t help but feel as if she’s being evaluated under that clever, blue gaze. Like she is being scanned for defects that could mess up her product. 

“I know we’re on a tight schedule, which is why I came over early,” Rey says. “Has the makeup artist finished with him yet?”

“Yes, thankfully, all is running smoothly,” Amilyn rolls her eyes in mock relief. ”He’s being fitted into his suit right now, so you’re up next. His hair is freshly washed, though. Would that be an inconvenience for you?”

“I can work with it. No problem.”

“Fantastic.”

Amilyn Holdo leads her across the lounge on sleek high heels and a slim business suit the color of heather—that strangely enough seems to match her hair. This shade of purple is absolutely stunning, and Rey is thrilled to see it worn so daringly. 

"Would you like some tea? Kylo had some brought for you," she turns gracefully on her heels to look at her. Rey notices the center table has a porcelain set of cups and a whole selection of teabags right next to a crystal vase filled with white roses. The aroma in the room is breathtaking.

"Um… yes. That would be lovely, thank you. But I’d like to finish up with his hair, first.”

“The business first, pleasure later type. I like that!” She declares, setting her hands on the sliding doors of what must be Kylo’s bedroom. But she hesitates to open them. She turns to face Rey with a strange expression on her face. 

A warning crawls up her spine.

"You know… I am very much aware of everything that happens in Kylo’s life after certain recent, unfortunate events. I think you might have an idea of what I am referring to. So I will give you some friendly advice. I don't know what your plans are about him, and chances are he won't tell me what he has in mind either, but if you do anything to damage him or his name—and I mean  _ anything _ —I will make sure you never comb a single strand of hair in this business again. Are we clear?"

Rey flinches from the sudden, unexpected attack. She thought his manager had a good impression of her. Obviously she was wrong. 

"I'm only here to do my job. Your threats have no grounds."

Amilyn purses her lips in obvious distrust. "Like I said, it's only friendly advice. I will not be happy if you screw him over - so be very,  _ very _ careful."

Rey is about to ask what exactly does she mean by  _ screw him over,  _ but his manager pushes the doors apart and steps aside to let her into his room.

There’s a flurry of activity inside. Kylo stands in front of a full-length mirror with a tailor sewing the inside of his trousers on one side and a stylist buttoning his cuffs on the other. A woman with an iPad in hand is reading off questions to him, to which he mumbles a curt yes or no accordingly. 

He must be selecting which questions will be allowed in interviews tonight, she realizes just as his eyes fall on her through the mirror. They are dark and brooding, shadowed by the internal turmoil she so often sees inside them. It does not seem to be a good afternoon for him.

"You're early."

She feels taken aback by his curt greeting, especially after their conversation aboard the plane, but she doesn't let it show. "No harm in that. I’ll just get situated and not get in anyone’s way till you’re done.” 

He doesn’t say anything back. Only slides his attention back to the woman with the iPad.

“No more questions.”

The assistant looks up, surprised. “But we haven’t gone over the ones concerning Miss Pava yet.” 

“I’ll figure out the answers along the way.”

“That is  _ not  _ a good idea, Mr. Ren. Her manager asked for us to have specific answers for the public when you are to be interviewed about—”

“I  _ said _ I’ll figure it out!”

All movement ceases in the room as everyone turns to look at him wide-eyed, including Rey. She has never had a taste of his infamous mercurial temper before, and it certainly lives up to the expectations. She sets the hairspray on the nightstand with a light clank, wincing at the sound that interrupts the silence.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him work his jaw with his gaze set on the floor, trying to get a grip on his emotions. The movements are subtle, but she has studied him long enough to discern his internal battles. 

“I’d like to finish dressing later on. I want to get my hair done first,” he says calmly, after a few moments have gone by. “Could you all please leave?"

The assistant sighs and shuts the case on the iPad, signaling for the rest of the team to leave the room.

“You have half an hour,” she says to Rey. “He's not the only celebrity scheduled for a fitting in this city.”

“I’ll be done before that,” she verifies calmly.

He barely meets her eyes when they are left alone.

"What's wrong?" She asks, knowing that she’s crossing an invisible line between them. Stepping over contracts and legal papers just the way he had a few hours earlier. “You were calm and laid back on the airplane, what changed in just a few hours?”

He steps back from the mirror and runs his hair through damp hair, still refusing to meet her gaze. “It’s complicated.”

“Perhaps I can help.”

He chuckles, completely unamused. "I doubt  _ that." _

He’s agitated and on edge. One of those days for sure, then. 

"Alright. Why don't you have a seat so I can get started with your hair, while you decide if you want to speak to me or not this afternoon."

He gives her a pointed look. "Patronizing me does not suit you." 

"Putting up with your bad mood doesn't either." She pats his chair, with the sternest expression she can muster. "Have a seat."

Strangely enough, it works, because he shuffles over, all petulant limbs and pouty mouth. It takes him a moment to get situated, tugging on his trousers and fidgeting in his chair, looking at anything else in his surroundings except for her. If it were anybody else she would have rolled her eyes. But she has been around him long enough to sense that something is eating him up.

She drapes a cloth over his shoulders and starts combing his hair. 

"We are ahead of schedule. I don't understand why you're so agitated. Are you nervous about the premiere?"

He picks at invisible lint on the fabric of his trousers. “Is this what you do? Lend an ear to celebrities that want to complain about their life?” 

She stares back at him, unable to mask the hurt in her features. “That’s very unfair after our conversation earlier.”

“And what would be fair?” He asks, turning in his seat to stare down at her, even though she is the one who towers over him. “For me to spill all my deepest desires while I know nothing about you?”

“I didn’t pressure you into revealing anything personal to me.”

“Don’t evade my question.”

“There’s nothing to know,” she huffs exasperated. “I don’t have an interesting life.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter because you won’t let anyone in to find out for themselves.”

He continues to stare at her, heavy gaze prying into the darkest parts of her soul. Demanding entrance to moments she wishes she could forget, a past she wishes she could change.

“You wouldn’t understand. You don’t come from my world,” she shakes her head.

“And which world would that be? Because last time I checked I wasn’t born in outer space.”

"This isn't the right time for jokes."

"Do you see me laughing? Or do you think fame runs in my blood like some sort of family legacy?"

“You at least  _ had  _ a family _! _ ”

Images of broken glass and crushed metal invade her mind. Long hair caked in blood, and beloved eyes staring vacantly ahead. 

“Didn’t  _ you _ ?” He asks, thoughtlessly.

Foster homes with unfit parents, hunger clenching at her insides, and fear keeping her up at night.

“It’s  _ complicated _ .”

He furrows his brow at his words being echoed back. But Rey has no desire to share a life she wishes she could bury.  _ Kill if she had to _ .

It had been years and years, before her grandfather had finally cared enough to appear out of nowhere, smiling down at her with promises of a bright future in a country across the Atlantic. Only he had come into her life too late. The damage had already been done.

Rey trusted no one. Rey belonged to no one. 

And no one could dictate how she would live her life. Especially not him.

"Just because you want to talk about yourself does not mean that the person across from you does too. Or did you think I would open up just because you did?"

His eyes soften, as if he’s finally understanding something about her. Connecting a puzzle piece into place. Rey dreads to find out what it is. 

He stands up slowly. 

“What if I did?” he asks. “What if I shared something about me, hoping you would do the same. Is that so inconceivable?”

“I’m telling you, there's nothing interesting about me that you would ever—”

“Let  _ me _ be the judge of that.” He leans in to catch her eyes, attempting to rein in a part of her that feels like an untamed beast. “I want to get to know you because you're  _ different _ . Because there's something about you that I like. Because sometimes there’s no logical explanation behind how we feel or what we want. And because I know that for some reason you are keeping everyone at arm's length, too afraid to allow yourself to care. Including me.”

“That's not true.” She flat out lies.

His confidence wavers as his eyes dart between hers anxiously. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions about you, just the way you have about me. And maybe I have read all sorts of wrong messages and let my imagination run wild. But if I haven’t…”

He pauses, waiting for her to say something back, but she doesn’t.

“But if I haven’t ...and you are just as curious to know me, then don’t fight it anymore. I know my world—like you say— seems intimidating and overwhelming, but it’s only made of people. It’s vain and narcissistic and full of rumors and deceits, but it’s also passionate and creative, and believes it can bring hope to the farthest reaches of the earth. Don’t run away because of what you see or hear. Look behind the obvious.” 

She nearly flinches when his hand caresses her cheekbone, eyes roaming over her face. She has felt a man’s touch many times in the past - but it has never felt this gentle before. 

_ This caring _ . 

It's the hardest thing in the world keeping herself from leaning in. 

“Please, remember to look behind the obvious tonight,” he says in his deepest voice. 

His strange plea cracks her heart in two.

This is no celebrity crush or passing infatuation. What this man brings out in her are living, breathing emotions - and they are terrifying. Because the man who stands before her has nothing to do with the man she sees walking arrogantly down red carpets to claim awards, or panting passionately on movie screens with his body groomed to perfection. 

This man has hopes. He has dreams and disappointments and failures - and gets ripped apart in tabloids for making the same mistakes as anyone else on the planet. 

This man is human. And he can get hurt.

_ As easily as her. _

“Say something,” he whispers, brown eyes wide and unguarded. “I don’t want to give up on you, but you have to give me something to hold on to."

She stares back just as wide-eyed—with pieces of her heart lodged in her throat.

His hand slides to cradle the side of her neck, gently holding her in place as if he can feel her instincts to flee at what he is about to do.

He leans in.

She ceases to exist when his lips descend to hers. They wrap around her own gently, delicately, like she’s made of porcelain and he’s too afraid to drink her in.

Her eyes fall shut and Rey surrenders. 

She surrenders to the light fan of his breath against her cheek, at the caress of his goatee on her chin, at how soft his lips feel. Her heart trembles at his touch. He’s wrapping himself around her and she feels like a falling star—all this throbbing vastness engulfing her, waiting patiently for her to burn up.

To belong to  _ him _ .

Rey has never feared and wanted anything else more in her life.

He tilts her head, deepening the kiss. Taking her lips between his and bringing them to life with heat and passion. And she is bending to his will—curling backward as his hand wraps around her waist, pressing her to his body. A hazy part of her mind is aware of how cinematic they must look, molded to each other in their fancy black and white clothes, too hungry to allow a breath between them, yet too afraid to melt in each other's embrace. To give in completely.

Her body aches to be filled by him.

His tongue runs along the seam of her bottom lip. He’s asking for permission to taste her, to delve inside her. To  _ know  _ her. And she can no longer resist him. There’s no more strength left in her.

She opens for him with a sigh.

Rey slides her palms up his chest, and over the muscles of his shoulders. She threads her fingers in his thick, silky hair, finally laying claim to the part of him she has secretly considered her territory from the very beginning. She wants no one else to touch it ever again. It’s hers.

She tugs. And he  _ groans _ .

He loses his footing.

There's a rattle of an expensive object on the nightstand, and a chair scrapes against the floor, before she finds herself falling.

They land on the soft covers of his bed, with her on top—black dress hiking up her thighs when she struggles for purchase, a knee on each side of his hips. Their breathless kiss breaks off as she finds herself straddling him, caging him beneath her. 

A thick bulge presses between her legs. It's impossible not to rub herself against it.

His hands caress her thighs, a slow torture that ignites her skin, as they travel up their length and come to squeeze her ass.

He stares at her, all dark hooded eyes and swollen lips and with his beautiful, black mane splayed like the halo of a fallen angel around his face. 

_ He’s the most beautiful man she has ever seen _ —her heart says, jackhammering in her ears.

"Are you alright?" he asks, but Rey knows she will never be alright again. Something will always feel broken inside her when the fairytale comes to an end. 

But until then…

"Yes. I am feeling good," she smiles.

Perhaps she can allow herself to be a little selfish. 

She leans in for another kiss.

All her world becomes a pair of bruising lips and lacing tongues, and a frantically beating heart pumping poisoned honey in her bloodstream.

It’s all the world she desires.

Link to art piece by @alcalafas <https://twitter.com/koderenn/status/1300438364802494464?s=20>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random comment. I particularly enjoyed portraying Amilyn Holdo resembling her character in Marriage Story. For some reason it fit best in this story, although I will always hold a special place for her as the fierce commander in TLJ.  
> Thank you for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts as always!


	8. One step forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you have probably noticed, I particularly enjoy dissecting the differences between acting on a theater stage and acting in the movie industry. Ι have been fascinated by theater since I was a kid, so please bare with me. It was the perfect excuse to explore the dichotomy between Kylo and Ben in the acting world!
> 
> Betaed by MyJediLife
> 
> And a great big THANK YOU to Silvergrain for her patience and clear mind. Her help has been so valuable in this chapter! 
> 
> Warnings in this chapter for intoxication and mention of recreational drug use. And also for the angst that’s coming up. Buckle up everyone!

He can’t get Rey out of his mind.

The phantom feel of her lips is still pressed to his mouth, and the taste of her breath is at the tip of his tongue. He would lick her off him if he knew he could get away with it.

“Mr. Ren! Here! Can you give us a smile?”

Which— is impossible to do in the middle of a red carpet premiere with countless flashes burning his retinas. Every movement he makes, every expression on his face, every speck of insignificant dust on his shoulder will be scrutinized and analyzed until the end of his stardom and beyond. Public appearances are an accident waiting to happen—a notion his beloved manager has drilled very successfully into the back of his head. The times he has chosen to disregard her sage advice is obviously directly proportional to the times he has gotten himself into trouble. 

He darts his tongue out to lick his bottom lip and narrows his eyes, giving the lady photographer across from him the smoldering, sexy picture she's struggling to capture amongst the torrent of cameras and flashing lights threatening to swallow her whole. Maybe it will be enough to boost her paycheck for the upcoming month, hopefully without any allegations about him flirting with her. 

“Here too, Kylo! Look over here!” One of the photographers demands, pushing the woman to the side with his bulk. Kylo turns his back smoothly to him, settling a hand in the pocket of his trousers. The guy will just have to settle for his ass.

He shuffles down the panel, one pose at a time, his impatience eating away at the brightness of his inconspicuous smile with each passing minute.

There’s at least a half hour of interviews and pictures before the movie begins. And then another torturous two and a half hours of sitting awkwardly in his seat, reminiscing about the way Rey’s eyes had blown wide when his fingers skimmed her slit over the damp fabric of her panties. He was merely testing the waters between them, checking the boundaries, one could say. It’s not as if he would have gone on ahead and slipped his cock inside her pussy while half of New York’s styling industry was hovering outside his doors.

Although, judging from the blush on Rey’s cheeks and the crystalline sparkle of her eyes, perhaps she wouldn’t have minded too much.

Kylo rubs his jaw, trying to bite down the smirk curling his lips. He has a reputation to uphold, and smiling goofily at the photographers won’t do him much good. 

Another flash stings his eyes.

The knock at his bedroom doors couldn’t have come at a worse time. He was left aroused and aching in too many ways as they scrambled to get off each other. The rumpled state of their clothes and the scrunched up duvet of his bed were enough for Amilyn to deduce what had been happening. 

Not to mention his hard on straining against the already tight confines of his dress trousers.

He can still feel the scathing ice of his manager’s eyes when she announced that the Breitling he would be wearing for the night had arrived. But nothing stung nearly as much as when Rey had to step away from his touch.

“Just a few more photos, sir,” the usher at the premiere’s panel gestures.

Kylo nods discreetly, biting the inside of his cheek.

How he wishes he could  _ squeeze _ in an hour between the movie and the afterparty to go back to the hotel and wrap his arms around Rey’s waist. Pull her body against his. Watch her hesitations and defenses crumble as he steals another kiss. Her pink lips are haunting him, and the cotton candy touch of her fingers against his freshly shaved jaw is still electrifying his skin. She was only in his arms for a handful of moments, and he’s already aching for her like she’s a newly acquired drug.

He raises his gaze at the night sky, aflame in accents of indigo and red, a bruised reflection of the city that never sleeps. A reflection of himself. If only he could escape it all for just a little while. Bury himself in her body and heart and forget the world he comes from in her sweet presence. 

His fingers twitch as if he could reach out and lace them with hers.

But the hand that wraps around his is not the one he’s searching for. 

“A few more photos of us before we head inside. What do you say?”

He turns his head to the woman standing next to him, having forgotten all about her. Jessica has her million dollar smile plastered on her face, but her eyes are as cold as the snowed in night he walked out on her nearly a year ago. The best New Year’s eve of his fucked up life.

“I was planning on signing a few autographs first.”

“You’ll get to the fans later. I’m getting cold.”

His eyes sweep over the exposed skin of her shoulders and back. The silk dress does little to protect her body against the biting cold of New York.

“Do you want my jacket? You shouldn’t have left your coat in the limo.”

“I didn’t like that coat. It made me look like a seal. And besides, there are plenty of ways to warm me up.” She tugs on his hand and he leans over without thinking it over much. The next thing he knows, her glossed lips are pressing against his, and a wave of whistles and flashing lights explode around them. 

It feels wrong. All of it feels so wrong it makes his guts churn—but he quenches down his revolting body for the sake of feeding the press. And honoring his contract. 

He doesn’t remember feeling so cheap in his life.

“Perfect,” she says in a brilliant smile, pulling away. “My social media accounts will have a riot.”

“Is that what this was for? I thought we were promoting our movie.”

She flashes her smile at the photographers. “That too.”

“Ah...Milking me for all I’m worth, then?”

“One way to look at it, darling.”

The best he can do is curl his lips, seemingly amused, although he swallows thickly and instinctively scans the crowd for a way out. But he knows better than that. There is no escape when one sells his soul.

Τhe photographs of their supposed rekindling will go viral in a matter of hours. 

Rey is bound to see them.

Part of him wants to warn her. The largest part, the one that roars she deserves better than to stumble across him kissing his ex on the internet. It’s the right thing to do. The decent thing to do. 

But he is far from being a decent human these days, and there still remains a part of him that is dying to know how much she will be able to take from the fuckery that is his life before she runs away. Before she gives up on him, like all the others have—or worse, tries to get revenge.

Hayworth once said that everyone goes to bed with Gilda, only to wake up to the harsh reality of a flawed woman. But that is only one way to look at the failed relationships celebrities have. Kylo knows that once in a while, some people throw caution to the wind and decide to stay next to their beloved  _ star _ , only to discover that somewhere along the way it’s exhausting to have the celebrity hovering over the relationship. They end up wanting one side of the persona—the simple, everyday side—which is the crux of the matter. How much can one exist without the other?

Jessica knows that all too well herself. Despite her insufferable personality and demanding nature, she always understood the duality that comes with being an actor. She has been in the business since childhood, and her experience has helped him cope with the dichotomy that can tear at a mind. 

It’s the reason he would always keep returning.

“Care to go inside?” he asks, reluctantly setting his hand on the small of her back to guide her down the rest of the red carpet. 

“In a bit. This is too much fun,” she mumbles, waving at the crowd with a practiced elegance that stirs a new wave of enthusiasm. 

“No. I think we’re done here,” he snaps, ignoring the glance she gives him. He lifts his hand for a crisp wave.

Mission has been accomplished, after all.

  
  
  
  
  


The premiere is as torturous as ever.

He watches himself speak lines that are now engraved in his mind like a holy testament while cringing at the overly dramatic expression of grief on his features. When will he ever learn to control the muscles of his face and speak with his eyes? Acting in the movie industry is completely different than on the planks of a theater.

Sometimes he wonders why they even pay him so much. Although he knows that the reason he’s here, to begin with, is sitting next to him, impassively watching the movie unfold just the way she has done for numerous premieres in the past. Hollywood’s favorite, most brilliant actress—and personal infamous ex-girlfriend—has plenty of facades, however. His naive self wasn’t aware of them when he first got involved with her, but he got to know plenty of them over the years. The tumultuous on and off relationship they shared, the horrible fights and fleeting lovers he has gone through have irrevocably scarred his rising career, and have brandished him with quite a reputation. She has brought out the worst in him, and he is not proud.

Kylo rubs his eyes. He doesn't believe he’s ever felt so tired of his life.

He glances around the dark theater at the enthralled faces lit up by the gigantic movie screen. They seem to be captivated enough for him to slip out—without anyone noticing—have a smoke, and get in touch with Rey. His tie feels too tight, his body is restless, and if he crosses legs one more time and bumps Jessica’s calf, he believes she will murder him.

“Where are you going?” she snaps when she senses him getting up.

“To get some fresh air.”

“I can’t believe you still do that,” her narrowed eyes sparkle with an agitation that seems so natural on her face. “There’s another hour to go, quit being rude and sit down.”

He tries really hard not to growl a scathing retort at her publicly. The last thing they need is to fight in the middle of the movie theater. “I need to make an important phone call.”

“You can make it after the premiere’s over.”

“Not this one,” he snaps. If he doesn’t hear Rey’s voice in the next five minutes, he feels he will implode. 

“Will you even return to your seat?” Her whisper sounds exasperated. 

His eyes roam over her perfect face, her perfect chignon, and perfect figure wrapped in gold silk and sparkling, priceless diamonds, knowing that escaping this woman’s clutches, once and for all, has never felt more crucial than this very moment. 

Rey’s simple, natural beauty and warm, disarming sincerity feel like a sanctuary in comparison.

“Will I return? _ ” _ he chuckles, buttoning his suit jacket. “Don’t hold your breath,  _ darling.  _ You took advantage of our agreement for your own personal benefit. My lawyer will get a hold of yours tomorrow morning to settle the details over the broken contract.”

Freedom always comes at a price, but the intoxicating thrill that comes with it makes it all worthwhile. His footsteps are muffled by the thick carpet, and his tall, slightly hunched-over figure blends easily in the darkness as he strolls out of the movie theater without looking back to see the expression on her face. 

He owes Jessica a lot. He has reached where he is now with her help. He hates being ungrateful.

But he can no longer remain under her leash.

Breaking through the glass doors into the crisp night of New York fills him with exhilaration. His first gesture is to light a cigarette and take a long drag, clearing his head and filling his lungs with one more poisonous addiction. He is a Gordian knot of bad habits, and he needs to break them one by one. For the first time in years, he feels like he has a reason to. He rubs at his temples, watching the simmering red end of his cigarette burn to ash. He releases the smoke slowly from his lungs, already feeling the soothing sensation bringing down the thudding of his heart.

He removes his phone from his pocket. Scrolls down to Rey’s name—then hesitates.

What will he say to her anyway?  _ Hello there, sweet thing. Just calling to let you know that I dumped my ex-girlfriend permanently so that you and I can have a go at whatever it is that we have, with no more setbacks. Oh, I kissed her a little while ago—but hey, it meant nothing, and you already know this sort of stuff comes with the package.  _

Sounds about right. He just needs to word it better. 

“Fuck my life,” he growls, a stream of smoke coming out of his nostrils as he punches the number on his phone screen. “She’ll never forgive me.”

He needs to get her something pretty. Something delicate and simple that mirrors her personality. Like a necklace from Bvlgari or a bracelet from Tiffany’s. All women love diamonds, it’s in their nature to appreciate beauty that has been buried in the dirt.

He takes another quick drag.

Yeah… She’ll definitely never forgive him.

It rings twice before she picks up.

_ “Hi!” _ She breathes into her end of the line, and he inhales her voice like fresh, spring air.  _ “I didn’t expect you to call. Aren’t you supposed to be at the premiere right now?” _

“I’m playing hooky.”

_ “You’re what?” _ She laughs. _ “Are you even allowed to do that?” _

“Not really.”

_ “Does Amilyn know?” _

“Are you planning on telling her?”

She laughs again, the lightness of her giggle bringing a smile to his own face. He bites his lip and stares at the few twinkling stars hiding behind the heavy clouds, as if they could give him the courage to find the words he needs.

_ “I hope you haven’t misbehaved in any other way,” _ she says. _ “Did you keep your tie in place and smile at all the cameras without scaring any of the photographers off?” _

“I haven’t even run my hand through my hair. You’d be so proud of how good I’ve been.” He cringes at the blatant lie.

_ “The night is still young,”  _ she snorts. _ “I’m sure you’ll mess it up eventually.” _

“The night or the hair?”

_ “It better not be the hair!”  _ She huffs comically. _ “Not to mention that I’ll find out how good you’ve been eventually.” _

“Oh, will you now?”

_ “A huh… So don’t go making any grand statements.” _

He chuckles low, taking another drag of smoke and releasing it into the crisp air, a way for him to gain a little time. His tongue is tied into a knot and his heart is beating in an erratic rhythm again. How the fuck does he break the news to her?

There’s clattering in the background, and voices as if she’s in a crowded space, like a bar or diner. Someone calls her name, demanding her attention. A tendril of dread begins to wrap around his chest. 

“So...It sounds like you’re having some fun. Where are you exactly?” 

_ “Out with a couple of friends I have here in New York.” _

“Care if I join you?”

_ “You’re going to stand out like a sore thumb in your tux,”  _ she teases with a smile in her voice. _ “Are you sure you’d want to have every eye in the grimy old bar I’m in directed at you?” _

“Sweetheart, you overestimate the places I hang around in.”

_ “Sweetheart? We kiss once and suddenly you earn the right to call me terms of endearment? Aren’t you rushing a bit?” _ Her smile must have reached her ears, he can tell from the sweet way she pronounced the word  _ kiss _ . She loves the endearment, and he will shower her with a new one each night if she decides to  _ stay _ .

“We can take things as slow or as fast as you want. You get to call the shots. All you gotta do is stick around...” There’s a shade of pleading in his voice that he can’t quite hide anymore. “Don’t make me call on the last favor you owe me,” he teases.

A tentative pause. He licks his lips, wondering if he pushed her a bit too far _.  _ “Rey?”

_ “I’m here.” _

He shuts his eyes at her soft whisper. “Good. Now...Tell me where you are, because I’m coming to get you. Your friends will just have to carry on without you for the indefinite future.” 

The need for some time alone with her is overwhelming all of a sudden. The photos of his kiss with Jessica feel like a noose around his neck, and all he wants to do is find a way to tell Rey about it face to face. He knows exactly how the press will make it appear when it goes public. It has all been orchestrated to perfection by their managers. And themselves.

_ “I didn’t know you were back together with your ex.” _

The butt of his cigarette hovers a hair away from his lips. “What?” 

_ “Your premiere is on TV. I’m watching it with friends at the bar.” _

Kylo swears his heart has stopped beating altogether. 

Well, celebrity gossip sure as hell makes headlines faster than a speeding bullet these days.

He swallows the urge to curse. There’s still press on the sidewalks, paparazzi most likely, and he knows they are never too far away. He lowers his voice and starts to pace. He can’t stop himself from running his hand through his hair. 

“Listen, I’ve been meaning to discuss this with you.”

_ “That you were planning on kissing your ex in front of the whole world, after you kissed me? Is that what you were hinting to earlier in the evening?” _

“Not  _ exactly— _ no.”  _ Shit. _ “It’s a bit more complicated than that. And it’s not something that’s meant to be discussed over the phone. Where are you? I would really,  _ really _ like to meet with you.” He scans the street for a cab sloshing through the melted snow, or a parked limo he could hijack for the evening. He needs to get to her  _ now _ . 

_ “Don’t bother, Mr. Ren. I believe you have further engagements for the night, and I would hate to be a distraction.” _

“You’re not a—”

_ “Goodnight, sir.” _

The abrupt end of the call leaves his ears ringing. “Fuck,” he mumbles with his cigarette hanging between his lips. This can’t be how the night ends between the two of them. He dials her number again and listens to the ring trying to bridge the chasm between them. But Rey doesn’t pick up. Ash falls on his phone as he attempts to call her once more. The acrid stench of the burning filter tells him it’s probably time to give up—only he can’t accept that.

He tosses the cigarette to the ground and grinds it under his heel.

He dials again.

But nothing changes the fact that her end of the line remains unanswered.

  
  
  
  
  


The remainder of the night feels surreal, taken out of a Terry Gilliam movie. The premiere’s afterparty is in an extravagant club filled to the brim with celebrities and big names, dressed to perfection in the latest fashion’s overpriced designer clothes and chatting blissfully about their champagne problems, or latest charity gala they are too bored to attend. Their dirty laundry is tucked safely in their closets along with their skeletons for the night, and everyone knows better than to ask personal questions. 

Kylo finds no reason to discuss what happened on the red carpet.

Avoiding Jessica turns out to be easy. He was always the one returning to her, so it comes as no surprise that she gives him the cold shoulder for the night. Guilt used to be her mega weapon against him. He would normally be extremely gleeful at knowing she has finally been disarmed if things with Rey had not blown up in his face.

Kylo finds himself weaving through and chatting and smiling with the crowd, mingling like he has been trained to do so well, or dancing to the music beating in the background whenever a female body grinds against him. But somehow he feels detached. Numb. A stranger that’s stuck in the middle of a state fair when he has just arrived from outer space. 

Even the taste of alcohol has lost its edge, and no matter how many glasses of wine he consumes it’s not enough to drown the sound of Rey’s voice hanging up. 

It is way past midnight now. His phone is dead—has run out of battery for at least an hour now— sweat and alcohol are clinging to his skin, and his throat is so parched he feels his tongue will fall off. A model is currently rubbing her bare shoulder against his thin dress shirt as they sway to the relentless music. The woman’s pupils are blown wide under the flashing lights, and the tip of her nose is runny and red, an unmistakable sign of the coke she has just inhaled. Part of him wants to ask for a gram for himself, but he cringes at the thought of where she could be hiding it in a dress that has no hiding places, to begin with.

He brings the rim of his whiskey bottle to his lips for a long drag. He remembers having a glass in his hand along with the bottle at some point in the night, but who knows where the hell he’s left it. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” the model says, in a rolling accent he can’t quite place with the spinning that’s taken over his head. Maybe French?

Her hand slips down to a place it shouldn’t in public, groping his intentions. 

He chuckles, a choked sound, and whiskey dribbles down the corner of his mouth as he tries to shrug away from her touch. He wipes at the alcohol with the back of his hand, wiggling a finger at her in warning.

“Not tonight,” he slurs. “But I wouldn’t mind a raincheck.”

“How about a quickie in the bathroom?”

“Sounds too slippery.”

He is so wasted he can’t see straight, let alone align himself with a cunt and manage to get a few thrusts in. The woman pouts, but he knows she’ll find another partner soon enough, a lot more willing and able to fuck her in a bed or ram into her against a sink. Maybe someone who hasn’t emptied his phone’s battery in his pathetic attempts to reach a woman that knows better than to allow him in her life. What was he thinking anyway?

God, he can be such an idiot. 

"So does that mean no?" The model huffs. "That you won't be having sex with me?"

"I guess," he shrugs, taking another sip of whiskey. 

She rolls her eyes, muttering something along the lines of  _ jerk _ or  _ putain,  _ or some other word meant to express her frustration at wasting her time on him. Kylo could care less, really.

Because there is only one person he cares about right now, and she is too far away.

He backs away, stepping on someone dancing in back of him. He mumbles an apology as he stumbles ahead, searching for the table he had left his suit jacket and dead phone at, but he has a hard time navigating himself through the narrow spaces with this music pounding in his head. 

He needs to get away from here. 

He needs to find a secluded bathroom to throw up in, get that wretched alcohol clouding his mind out of his system, have an espresso, and then go find Rey. He’s certain she’ll forgive him if she lets him explain what happened tonight. If he explains the contract he was under and all the messed up things the movie industry is about, and how the kiss with Jessica meant nothing. Rey is a kind, compassionate,  _ radiant _ soul that surely knows how to give second chances. He only needs to explain himself. Make her see—

He stops at a table, rubbing his face. He could have sworn this was the one he had been sitting at, but he has no clue who the people chatting there are. Fuck, he hopes he’s not going around in circles.

“Do you need any help, sir?”

Kylo tries to focus on the face of the man standing next to him. Waves of nauseating relief wash over him as he recognizes Antoine, his bodyguard. “Yes,” he slaps a hand on his muscled shoulder, managing to get the swaying under control. “I need. To find. Rey.” He couldn’t be more articulate and clear even if he were sober.

“Your hairdresser?” Antonio scrunches his forehead.

“Yes.  _ Her _ .” He doesn’t understand why that’s such a strange request. They are constantly together. “I need to explain some things to her. You gotta take me back to the hotel.”

“I don’t think it would be such a good idea to go looking for her at this time, Mr. Ren. Maybe tomorrow morning?”

“No, no, no—You don’t understand,” he gestures dismissively. Antonio is a really great guy, but he gets his priorities mixed up. “This is really really important. I need to see her tonight,” he squeezes his bodyguard’s shoulder, which feels like a rock in his grip, and the only steady thing in a world that’s rotating dangerously under his feet. “You gotta help me find her now. Please...”

Somehow it seems like he must have gotten through this fortress that is his bodyguard, because the man’s brown eyes regard him in sympathy. Or pity. There isn’t much difference between those two words anyway. He doesn’t understand why people turn it into such a big deal.

“Sure thing, boss,” he relents, and Kylo wants to hug him in relief. If Antonio could save him the trouble of running into the paparazzi, who are no doubt stalking all entrances of the club in order to capture his glazed, drunken state on his stumbling way to the limo, he would be even more grateful—but despite his inebriated state, he can still see how impossible that is.

“Thank you,” he breathes out as another wave of nausea hits him. 

The ride back to his hotel takes a lot longer than anticipated, since the driver has decided to comb through every numbered avenue of New York City, and has crossed Queensboro bridge twice, as far as Kylo can tell in the condition he’s in. He has his forehead resting on cold, tinted glass as he sits sprawled in the furthest recesses of the limo, watching the flickering lights of the city pass by in one of the most classic, cinematic moments every respectable director has included in his movies at least once in their career. 

It makes the actor in him revolt at how cliche it all feels. 

An annoying little voice tells him this is something Antonio has planned in order to save him from making an outer fool of himself. Somewhere outside Madison Square Garden, when the limo stops for him to take a piss, he begins to consider his bodyguard is probably right. By the time Kylo sets the red sole of his Louboutin on the polished steps of his hotel, vaguely aware that he can walk up to the entrance without swaying dangerously on his feet, he has come to the groundbreaking realization that banging on Rey’s door in the middle of the night, reeking of alcohol and smoke, would not get him in her good graces. That there are in fact not many things that could, and that there’s a good chance he might have pushed her too far, and she has finally decided to run for the hills. 

As she should, of course. He doesn’t deserve her. 

Not as the man he has become.

The elevator pings on the 24th floor of the Marriott Marquis. The metal doors slide open with an imperceptible woosh, and Kylo steps on his floor, fumbling for his card in the breast pocket of his suit jacket—which miraculously appeared in the hands of his bodyguard as they were leaving the club. He removes his dead phone, tosses out a number of business cards and scribbled numbers, and fishes out his standard condom before he finally pulls out the key card for his suite.

“A-ha!” he mumbles triumphantly in the silent corridor, tripping over his oversized feet a few doors away from his destination. His shoulder thuds painfully against the wall, and stars explode in his line of vision. He lets out a string of low-voiced curses, rubbing at his shoulder and waiting for the throbbing pain to subside before he dares to take another step forward. The pain is so intense it brings tears to his eyes. 

God, he wishes he could hear Rey’s voice. 

If only there was a lithium ion left on his fucking phone battery.

“Are you alright?”

His head snaps up at the sound of the female voice. A woman is sitting on the floor, with her back resting against his door, and her slender legs folded in her arms. Streaks of mascara are carved on her cheeks and her dark, wrinkled dress pools like dying blood on the cream carpet.

His heart stops at the sight—at the beautiful woman that slips like sunlight through his cracks.

It takes him a moment or two to regain his voice. “Rey? What are you doing here?”

****

Rey never believed in love at first sight. 

She never believed in fairytales, or destiny, or any other romantic theory meant to explain the sexual attraction between two people. Watching such a powerful instinct being marketed and sold to the masses as an emotion that is beyond their power or control—but meant to be worshipped either way—always made Rey feel very wary of it. 

Especially after she got her heart slammed on the ground a couple of times because of it.

The problem in her current situation, however, is that despite her better judgement, she knows  _ exactly _ the moment she fell for this talented, compelling actor and his ambiguous, complicated ways. She remembers the moment her heart stuttered for him as if it were yesterday. Her fingers still tingle with the sensation of running through the thick silk of his hair for the first time.

But tonight has changed a lot between them. She has been reminded of all the reasons she shouldn’t have fallen for him to begin with. Of all the reasons she had told herself she wouldn’t.

"Rey?" 

_ Because tonight _ has become her new definition of the word  _ heartbreak _ .

"What are you doing here?"

She tries to get her limbs to cooperate as she struggles to get off the floor. His drunken state is obvious from miles away, but she's in no better condition herself. 

"Um… I was waiting for you."

“For how long?”

Rey’s sense of time was obscured after her fifth drink. For all she knows, she still would have been at the bar, drinking the Hudson if Cassian hadn’t called it a night for her. 

“A while...”

He doesn’t seem to know what to do with her response, because he glances at the wall across with his glazed eyes and drawn, tired features, fiddling with his keycard in hand. 

"You didn't answer my phone calls."

"Was I obliged to?"

He runs his hand through his hair. "No, I guess not—"

A few tense moments go by, where he continues to fiddle with his card. Rey thinks it will snap in two in his large hand.

“I’ve been meaning to talk with you about what you saw earlier—” he begins, bringing those compelling dark eyes to her.

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” he takes a step towards her, but still keeps a safe enough distance. “I was such an idiot, thinking that I could expect you to trust me about a situation you know nothing about—”

“You should have told me the truth.”

“Yes, I know. I regret I didn’t.” 

He licks his lips, seemingly in difficulty for his next words. This is definitely not a conversation they should be having in the middle of a hotel corridor, and in the condition they are both in. Rey was not planning on having it at all, but she finds herself wanting to listen to what he has to say. It will take a great deal of effort to do what she came here to do and not give in to the charm that always wiggles its way into her poor heart. Rey can’t get over how painfully good-looking he still is, how attracted she is to him despite his rumpled state. His loosened tie and untucked shirt, the tangy smell of alcohol and bitter smoke clinging to his Gucci tux, the light slur of his speech should be pushing her away.

Not making her want to forget all the ways this man can hurt her.

He approaches warily, his eyes set on her as if she’s about to disappear the next moment. If he only knew…

“We barely know each other,” he tries in his defense. “We never talk about anything else apart from our work when we are together, and although I’ve noticed small tiny things about you, like how your favorite beverage is green tea, or that you can shovel down fish and chips at any given moment of the day, or how off-key you hum when doing my hair, we are practically strangers.”

His breathless sentence has brought him so close she needs to raise her head to look at his seemingly earnest eyes. 

“The hum is adorable by the way.” He licks his lips again, and she can’t help but stare at the way they shine. “It’s just that—we are off on such a rocky start, you and I. If only—”

Rey hates speculations. “You messed up your hair,” she says.

“I’ve messed up more than my hair, Rey. I—”

“Shh…” she sets a finger against those plush lips to stop him from talking. She’s heard plenty of lies and meaningless excuses in her life, but the most painful ones are the ones that came from the people she had grown attached to. She can’t handle them coming from this man. “It’s alright. That’s not what I’m here for.”

He shuts those beautiful dark eyes, letting out a frail exhale on her fingertip. Her stomach dips at the possibility of him taking it into his mouth.

“You’ve been crying,” he says softly, instead. “Don’t try to convince me it doesn’t matter.” Disbelief is written eloquently on his handsome face when he opens his eyes. The pad of his thumb wipes at a tear path on her cheek, the evidence of his heartlessness. “Don’t try to convince me you didn’t care.”

“Then why did you do it? I don’t understand…”

“I do many things I shouldn’t.”

“Regardless of who gets hurt in the process?”

He hesitates, eyes darting between hers. His answer feels like a nail on a coffin. “They are necessary at times. I could tell you more about my weaknesses than about my strengths, but I don’t know if I could ever make you understand.”

Her finger falls from his lips. She takes a step back, distancing herself in more ways than the simple dimension of space. 

Kylo catches her misgivings in the air, holding them tight in his heedless hands. “Why are you here, if you weren’t looking for answers then? Why did you come to find me after what I did to you?”

Rey should not have come to find him at all. They are always caught between one step forward and a point of no return, and after tonight, she doesn’t believe there is a path for them to walk on together anymore. 

“I came because I wanted to spend the night with you…” she says. Because she wants this from him. It’s the least he owes her.

His eyes widen in surprise for a split second. It’s so fleeting Rey would have missed it if she blinked. 

“Is that the real reason you’ve been curled at my door half the night?” His dark eyes are on her, keen and intense as always, trying to probe her intentions, trying to read her thoughts. She doesn’t allow him the time. 

“Do you want me to go?”

“No, no…” He raises his hand as if to stop her, but quickly gets his reflex in check. He rakes his hair again, his way of expressing internal battles from what Rey has come to know about him. He curses low, before biting his lip. “No. I’d—like you to stay. Do you want to come in?” 

He swipes his card at the door. And as simple as that, with a blink of green light and a soft click, she is invited into his elegant suite. 

Into a night she had once sworn to herself she would never seek from him.

“Yes,” she says. “Thank you.”

Rey steps into his dimly lit room, black heel confident in her pursuit, like so many other women before her.

One night with Kylo Ren. 

That’s what they were all after. Why should she be any different?

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may have started to feel a bit uncomfortable wondering what kind of an ending this story might have. I’m not particularly fond of spoilers, or giving out a story’s plot (it’s the old school reader in me speaking that would simply flip to the end of the book if I couldn’t take the heat lol) so I will simply ask you all to have a little faith in these two bunnies. Thank you for reading!
> 
> The chapter was inspired by the song “Half way and one step forward” by Marilyn Manson.


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